Possessions
by ThePet
Summary: When Carl is plagued by recurring nightmares about a dark priest, Van Helsing must risk his friend's life to save him - while himself haunted by a figure from the past. 13 UP
1. Chapter One

A/N My first attempt at a story based on this film...I hope you enjoy. Reviews extremely welcome!  
  
The night was dark; a deep, velvet, unnatural black, but somehow he could see, nonetheless. Quietly, he slipped through the night, while above him, the sky began to rage....it would not be long now before he reached the church. There - over the mound of the hill! Above lay only a deep, cold silence, as the short, squat building rose ominously in front of him, silhouetted by the moon, until even that pale comfort slid, unspoken, behind the gathering black thunderheads which accumulated inevitably both within and without the man. Shivering, he quickened his pace, hurrying toward the church; now he could see more clearly the greyness of its cold, unyielding stone, the gravestones in the churchyard, rising from the blackness. It began to rain, and the rain was bloody; lightning flashed, and it was then that he saw the silhouette, waiting silently, inevitably, in the tower, distorted through the stained glass of the window....  
  
The figure of the priest.

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Carl awoke with a yelp, to blackness all around him, the dream lingering for a moment as it had for the last three nights, making him half-expect to see the faceless priest advancing on him out of the dark. Sitting up cautiously as his fear began slowly to abate, he groped for a candle and matches, his usually dextrous hands made clumsy with trembling. After what seemed like an hour he managed to light the candle and set it shakily upon the small stone shelf beside his bed.  
  
"Midnight," he muttered, checking his Swiss pocket watch, a possession frowned upon by his fellows as being too expensive an item to be owned by a humble servant of God. But it was beautiful – its mechanism so intricate and complex – that he had been unable to resist it. There was no conflict in Carl's mind between science and religion; he had never found it difficult to accept both that God created things, and that Man could come to understand them. What kind of Father stifled his children in their growing?  
  
Contemplating the watch had soothed him, and the Friar was no longer trembling, though the dream bothered him, more now than it had the first time. Was it really natural to experience the same nightmare over four nights, by coincidence? No. Then it must mean something. The first night he had blamed the cheese he had eaten for supper. Cheese before bedtime gave you nightmares; his mother had told him that. The second night, he had fallen asleep with the dream on his mind, and had attributed its reoccurrence to that.  
  
On the third night, he had begun to wonder – and now, he was sure. The nightmare meant something; the grim church, which he did not recognise, and the priest; the priest was important. He had never seen its face, but on each night, he had drawn closer to the church.  
  
Carl was very much afraid that tomorrow night he might end up inside, and then what would happen? That priest...that priest troubled him greatly. The image rose in his mind's eye, and unblushingly he pulled the thin Hessian blanket over his head. He did not want to see the priest's face...  
  
Cowering under the blanket, having thoroughly unnerved himself again, the last thing Carl wanted was to hear a soft, insinuating knock on the door of his cell. A knock which grew louder and more insistent as he tried to ignore it.  
  
"Go away," he whispered, under his breath, "go away..."  
  
The knocking stopped. Carl heaved a sigh of relief, and peered over the top of his blanket...to see the door inch slowly open.  
  
"Oh, God, why me?" he whimpered, diving for cover again. "What have I ever done to annoy You? First Transylvania and now this...it was the barmaid, wasn't it? Wasn't it? Send this thing away and I'll never do anything like it again...I'll take a vow of chastity – I promise!"  
  
God, perhaps not surprisingly, did not deign to answer. Whatever had been knocking on the door was now inside the room, but it was not moving, or speaking. Could he have imagined it? Tentatively, Carl peered out from under the blanket again, only a tuft of untidy hair and wide, frightened eyes showing. He shifted his gaze slowly to the door...  
  
The dark priest! In his room! The face hidden in shadow, it was coming slowly towards him...  
  
"Go away!" Carl screamed at it. "I have the blessing and the love of God...in his name, I defy you!"  
  
There was a pause, and then the figure spoke.  
  
"Are you quite all right, Carl?"  
  
The priest stepped fully into the light of the candle. He was young, tall and slender, with short dark hair and bright blue eyes, a concerned expression in them now. He was a young man, recently ordained, recently transferred from Ireland – and a new friend of Carl's.  
  
There was another, somewhat embarrassed, pause. Then Carl said,  
  
"Father Michael...er, how nice to see you."  
  
The priest smiled amiably and came to sit on the edge of the stone cot that served Carl as a bed.  
  
"I'm sorry to call on you so late," he said, pleasantly, "but you are usually in your laboratory at this hour."  
  
"A failed experiment," Carl replied, grimly, then realised that he was still peeking over his blanket like a child playing peep-bo. He cast it aside quickly, blushing.  
  
"Is something wrong?" asked Father Michael.  
  
"No, no, nothing at all..." he broke off. Father Michael was staring at him, eyebrows raised. "Well...I had a nightmare."  
  
"I'm not surprised. You faced vampires and werewolves, and got into all sorts of things in Transylvania, after all, didn't you?"  
  
"I didn't get into anything apart from the vampires and werewolves," said Carl, a shade too quickly. "What did you what to see me for?" he changed the subject dextrously.  
  
"Nothing, in particular, though I always welcome your company. Van Helsing wishes to see you on a matter of some urgency – he's waiting downstairs in your lecture room."  
  
The lecture room, an office adjoining the laboratory, was where Carl instructed his occasional apprentices. Out of every new recruit to the Order, a small fraction – perhaps one every couple of years – was sent to Carl in the laboratory, to learn the intricacies of the complex and creative science he worked with. Carl's apprentices held him in great respect, accepting his cheerful hedonism as a kind of rarefied eccentricity associated with genius. So did most people, in fact – but Gabiel van Helsing had never been fooled. Carl thought affectionately of the tall, dark, grim-faced man, and wondered what Van Helsing might want to see him about in the middle of the night after months of absence from Italy.  
  
"I'll be down directly," he told Father Michael, who was still smiling amicably at him from the end of the bed – among Novices and the occasional monk with a sense of humour, the friendly priest was, in fact, usually known as the 'Smiling Man'.  
  
Father Michael politely left the room while Carl scrambled out of bed and pulled on his habit, first backwards, then after some fumbling, properly. He was tired, having spent the last week with hardly any sleep – he tended to work through the night a little too frequently – and what sleep he had, disturbed by visions of The Priest. Or indeed The Priest Who Wasn't Father Michael. Perhaps, he thought, Van Helsing's wanting to see him was not a coincidence? More probably, though, the most fearsome field operative the Order employed had simply come to report another crossbow killed in action. He got through far too many of them...but it was difficult to remain frustrated with someone who possessed such an engaging manner, Carl thought, chuckling aloud. The sound reverberated around the stairwell, making him jump. He was near the ground floor now.  
  
The lecture room was open and dark except for a single candle burning at the far end. Carl made his way to it, discerning a large dark shape he assumed to be Van Helsing standing nearby.  
  
"Good...middle of the night to you," he said, wanting to point out the fact that his friend had interrupted a few hours of much-needed rest. "You do realise they make me attend matins at six o'clock..."  
  
Van Helsing did not reply, but that was hardly unusual. Taciturn devil, Carl thought, half annoyed and half amused. He went closer, making a great show of yawning and stretching. The figure made no movement.  
  
"I suppose you've broken something again?" Carl asked, not at all minding addressing a figurative brick wall. He was quite aware that most people stopped listening to him after ten minutes or so. "You're too heavy handed, you know. I've explained many times that even the most heavy-duty weapon..."  
  
He broke off. Van Helsing was facing away from him, apparently staring at a large painting of Jesus feeding the five thousand, mounted on the wall.  
  
"Anyone would think you'd never seen the image of Christ before," muttered Carl, a little irritably. "It's a terrible painting, at any rate...I suppose now you're going to tell me I'm going to hell for blasphemy." He paused, suddenly reminded of the promise he'd make to take a vow of chastity if the evil priest had not entered his room to kill him. He worried about this for a split second before remembering that he had merely asked the Lord not to allow the 'thing' to enter, and that Father Michael, nice as he was, quite probably qualified as a 'thing' of some sort, and had, in fact entered. Cheered by this, Carl advanced to Van Helsing's side, and tapped the taller man on the shoulder.  
  
"If you wake me up in the middle of the night, you might at least have the courtesy not to ignore me when I berate you," the Friar pointed out, faux- affronted...and then he froze, his blood chilling in his veins, as the figure slowly turned to face him. It was tall and dark, its face in shadow...and highlighted around its thick neck was a bright white collar.  
  
It was not Van Helsing... ...it was...  
  
...it was the figure of the Priest.

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A/N Comments anyone!? By the way, the 'Smiling Man' is based on a real person, an old acquaintance of mine from university.


	2. Chapter Two

A/N Thank you all for the kind reviews, I really appreciate them! Here's the second chapter. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
  
Gabriel van Helsing was in some respects a patient man, and in some ways, not. He could spend months chasing a single monster across a country, a continent, halfway across the world, even, and never be impatient for the kill. These things came in their own time. Being kept waiting in small, stuffy rooms, badly lit and containing terrible paintings, tended to wear him down, however, and he had soon left the lecture room when Carl did not arrive after a few minutes.  
  
He wandered through Carl's laboratory, occasionally prodding things that looked interesting, hefting a crossbow here, cocking a rifle there, until one of the objects he was examining – an innocuous looking statue of the Buddha – exploded in his hand, burning his palm. He dropped it with a grunt of disgust, stuck his hands in his pockets and decided to go and wait for Carl after all.  
  
The candle Father Michael had lit in the little office had gone out. Van Helsing had excellent night vision but even he needed some light to work with; he collected the lantern which had been left burning in the laboratory and held it high enough to illuminate the room.  
  
What he saw filled him with alarm. Picked out by the flickering light, a small figure lay huddled at the far end of the room, beneath the painting of Christ, its face hidden in its hands.  
  
"Carl!" Van Helsing crossed the room in two bounds and knelt beside his friend, gently pulling his hands away from his face. "Are you all right? What happened?"  
  
Carl remained limp, his face deathly pale, his forehead awash with cold sweat...but he opened his eyes as Van Helsing leaned over him, tense with concern.  
  
"Carl?" he was alarmed by the fear in his friend's wide blue eyes.  
  
"Where is he?" the friar whispered, flushed with anxiety. He grasped Van Helsing's hand. "Where did he go?"  
  
"Who? I saw no one."  
  
"Of course you didn't," Carl muttered, with a sudden, half-hysterical gulp of laughter. His eyes darted around room, fixing here and there, and his hand trembled in Van Helsing's.  
  
"He's gone," the smaller man said eventually, in a relieved sigh, but his face remained tense, his eyes fearful. Van Helsing watched him silently, uncertain how to respond. He had heard no sounds of a struggle in the lecture room, there was no sign of violence either in the room or on Carl's huddled, shivering form; no evidence at all of any assailant. Carl was nervous and imaginative; perhaps he had dreamed it.  
  
"What happened, Carl?" he asked again, after a moment. "Could it have been a nightmare?"  
  
"Yes, of course it was a nightmare," came the irritable, distracted response, "but now it's escaped from my mind and it's abroad here...in the flesh...I saw it!" he voice rose in pitch to an anguished cry, and he slumped back, looking thoroughly wretched, staring blankly at the opposite wall. Confused and helpless – and privately wondering whether Carl had sneaked out to the local public house again – Van Helsing squeezed his friend's hand comfortingly and made an attempt to help him to his feet. Only then did the friar actually look at him.  
  
"Van Helsing...?" he murmured, his voice thick and strange, like a man emerging from a dream.  
  
"Yes, I'm here."  
  
Carl rubbed his head, looking confused. "How...how long have you been here?" he glanced around the room, still bewildered.  
  
"For a few minutes," Van Helsing replied, with some relief – it was obvious now that his little friend had simply fallen asleep waiting for him, and fallen prey to some peculiar, lingering nightmare. Probably he had been eating cheese for supper again. "I think I must have frightened your monster away," he added, teasingly, "there's no one here now."  
  
"Monster?" Carl smiled sleepily, glanced around the room again, and shrugged. "Yes, well...whatever it was, it does seem to have wandered off home, doesn't it?" Van Helsing pulled him to his feet and set the lantern on a table.  
  
"What were you dreaming about?" he asked, curiously.  
  
"Actually, I was going to tell you about that," Carl's smile faded; he looked worried again, shooting nervous glances around the small room; he seemed especially unnerved by the painting for some reason. But then, it was awful.  
  
"I'm been having the same dream for several nights – or at least, dreams set in the same place," he began, in a tone which Van Helsing recognised well enough to know that this conversation was not going to be a short one. It would probably he first light before he even got to the reason he himself was here.  
  
"It always begins in the same way," the friar continued. "I'm walking through a village, in the middle of the night. It's completely dark, and I'm heading towards a church; a rather ugly building, Gothic in design, I should think it dated from..."  
  
"Carl, it's a little after one in the morning. Can you confine this narrative to something short of an epic?"  
  
"If you insist," Carl replied. He grinned, though a little uneasily, and he jumped every time the lantern flickered, or some soft sound came to their ears in the quiet little room. "I make my way to the church, and always in the window I see the same figure," he went on, then paused.  
  
"Well?" Van Helsing said impatiently. "What figure?"  
  
Carl shivered, glancing around again as though he expected someone to be listening. "The Priest!" he whispered, eventually – then looked chagrined when Van Helsing burst into laughter.  
  
"A priest? You've been having nightmares about a priest? Are you afraid Cardinal Jinette is going to make you take full orders, or something?"  
  
Carl looked annoyed for a moment, then seemed to relax a little, as though he found Van Helsing's amusement comforting. He smiled weakly.  
  
"This place is full of priests," he muttered, "it's difficult not to develop a horror of them. Hail-Marying here and Our-Fathering there – as though the rest of us had no piety...damn them." He briefly flashed the mischievous little grin Van Helsing had become fond of, then shrugged in a self-deprecating manner.  
  
"Perhaps I am over-reacting," he said, "probably being silly. But the dream was so powerful, so...intimate...it disturbs me. I feel as though it means something."  
  
"It probably does. Means you eat too much supper."  
  
Carl rolled his eyes. "I do wish you'd take me seriously. I have the uncomfortable feeling that something is going to happen."  
  
"You said a moment ago that it wasn't important," Van Helsing pointed out, a little wearily.  
  
"Yes, but...when I came downstairs to find you just now...I could have sworn I saw someone. Something. A figure...I thought it was you. And the next thing I remember is you poking me."  
  
"I thought you were dead."  
  
"That was no excuse to poke me. How did you think it would help? Anyway...perhaps it was all just a dream. I haven't slept very much in the last week. I might even have been hallucinating...sleep deprivation can lead to hallucinations, I've read. I wonder if some kind of chemical in the brain is released, which, when combined with a component of certain dairy products..."  
  
"Carl."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Stop talking."  
  
"I do beg your pardon."  
  
Van Helsing stretched himself, then dropped into a chair and rested his booted feet on the table. Carl tutted at him, but sat as well, looking a little sheepish now about his earlier panic.  
  
"What did you want to see me about?" he asked, politely, steepling his fingers like a prissy schoolmaster.  
  
"I need a weapon," Van Helsing replied, relieved to have finally reached the topic of his visit. Carl, however, looked unimpressed.  
  
"And you woke me in the middle of the night to tell me this."  
  
"You're usually pottering in your lab until the small hours..."  
  
"I do not 'potter'. I 'create'," replied to friar, with a sniff. "Would you like it if I described your various un-coordinated death-defying leaps as attempts at ballroom dancing?"  
  
"I didn't mean to offend you," lied Van Helsing, amused at his gentle friend's irate response, "and I apologise for disturbing you so late. All right?"  
  
"Fair enough, I suppose," Carl huffed, "what's the urgency, then?"  
  
"I need to leave for England by the first ship tomorrow morning."  
  
"Oh, how nice! Will you be going to Oxford, because they have lots of quaint old public houses and a number of charming..."  
  
"It's not a vacation, Carl, nor an opportunity for you to indulge your habit of collecting barmaids."  
  
"I was going to say 'libraries', the friar replied, but his eyes sparkled with mischief. Then his face fell as he took in Van Helsing's words.  
  
"What do you mean, my habit of collecting barmaids? Not that I have one," he added, quickly.  
  
"You're coming with me."  
  
"Oh, not again! I had quite enough adventure in Transylvania, thank you very much, and I've no desire to repeat the experience. I do wish you people would leave me to what I do best."  
  
"Barmaids?" Van Helsing teased. "I need your expertise, Carl," he went on, more seriously, "and our passage on The May Queen to Dover is already arranged. I'll explain on the way."  
  
"Oh, damn it all to hell and back, twice!" Carl swore, unhappily.  
  
"You're getting better at it," he friend remarked, with a rare grin.  
  
"At what?" the friar sulked.  
  
"Cursing."  
  
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A/N Heh-heh. Carl's going to have plenty to curse about. Sorry there was no action in this chapter, hope it wasn't too boring. I was trying to build up plot, develop character interactions, etc. but forgive me if it became an indulgence for my verbosity. Oh, and excuse my self-indulgence in writing about Oxford but they do say,' write what you know' – and the only alternative is Wolverhampton. And the pubs aren't as good there – neither are the barmaids for that matter. Er...comments?! 


	3. Chapter Three

A/N The third instalment of this exciting, boy's own adventure tale.  
  
Carl was dozing, sprawled in a rickety chair with one leg shorter than the other three, tipping dangerously back as the sea swelled beneath the ship. He and Van Helsing were sharing a small, tatty cabin with a few sticks of mouldy furniture. Neither the view nor the company was especially inspiring – Van Helsing was in one of his strong, silent moods, staring out of the porthole with a hostile expression chiselled onto his rugged face. That, coupled with his recent lack of sleep, had led Carl to doze fitfully for much of the trip so far.  
  
In truth, he was becoming afraid to close his eyes. Every time he did, the image of that horrible church and its depraved occupant filled his mind, making him feel somehow tainted, as though he had come into contact with something filthy and profane. Fearful of relaxing sufficiently to allow sleep deep enough for dreaming, he slumped awkwardly in his chair, hoping that if he did fall properly asleep it would fall backwards and wake him up. It did not, mainly because Van Helsing spotted the chair tipping over and reached out to steady it.  
  
And so Carl slept, peacefully for a while as his brain settled into a natural unconscious rhythm – and then the dream began again.  
  
The darkness...the church...the Priest, his face still hidden, but now Carl was at the foot of the church steps and, looking up, seemed to see the other's eyes gleaming yellow through the stained glass window. Wanting to run, but compelled by some terrible force to reach for the great iron handle hanging askew on the rotting oak door, he turned it slowly, pushing the door open...  
  
"Carl?"  
  
"What!?" He awoke with a violent start, falling off the chair and landing with a painful thud on the rolling deck. Van Helsing, sitting opposite him, stared at him intently as he clambered slowly to his feet on unsteady sea-legs.  
  
"I just wondered if you wanted some food," his friend was still eyeing him rather oddly. "It's almost lunchtime." A pause, then he added casually, "dreaming again?"  
  
"Perhaps," murmured Carl, avoiding his gaze without really knowing why. "You woke me up before I had much opportunity."  
  
"I'm sorry." Van Helsing did not look sorry. A few items were laid out on the table – bread, cheese, some cold salted beef, a bottle of dusty-looking wine.  
  
"Never mind. Thank you," he added, as Van Helsing roughly halved the food and drink and pushed some in his direction. They munched in companionable – though just a little strained – silence for a while.  
  
"So, why are we going to England?" Carl asked, with his mouth full. Since the question sounded like 'Swuffglnd?", Van Helsing had no idea how to answer. He waited for Carl to swallow, wash the food down with a liberal gulp of wine, and then repeat himself.  
  
"I haven't explained?"  
  
"No, you haven't," the friar replied, a little peevishly. "When you drag someone away from hearth and home to a completely different country with an unpleasant climate, it's only courteous to tell him why, you know."  
  
Van Helsing nodded, though he seemed uncomfortable for some reason – seasick, perhaps? Or was it the cheese – it was slightly mouldy?  
  
"There've been reports of disturbances in the vicinity of a church in Oxfordshire," Van Helsing explained, pouring more wine. Bits of cork fell into Carl's chipped glass, and he watched them swirl for a moment. Between the lack of sleep and his discomfort at travelling on the ocean, he felt as though he was sinking into a kind of fugue state. Van Helsing's voice seemed distant, mesmeric...he shook himself sharply, in time to catch,  
  
"...lights, unnatural noises, and spectral visions."  
  
"I'm sorry?"  
  
"The manifestations at the church."  
  
"Which church?"  
  
"The one in Abingdon, in Oxfordshire...it's a small village outside the city itself." He looked curiously, intensely, at Carl, who stared back blankly. "Are you all right?"  
  
"Hm? Yes, yes, fine. Thank you," Carl nibbled some more cheese, then put it aside. He found his appetite conspicuously absent, and blamed it on the unpleasant sea-crossing. And lack of sleep. It was starting to tell on him now. He rubbed his eyes wearily.  
  
Night came swiftly on the sea; the ship was slow, stopping at other places en route to Dover, and the journey largely boring. The ocean was dull and grey and uninteresting, its only purpose being to make one queasy, Carl thought irritably. He was seated at the woodwormy table, trying to read transcripts Van Helsing had given to him, of reports about the strange events occurring at the Church of the Sorrowful Mother. God, what a depressing name! The data was interesting, but Carl was having great trouble concentrating; he felt nauseous, his head ached, and it was only fear of seeing the Priest again in his dreams that kept him awake and trawling painfully through the documents. He could feel Van Helsing's eyes on him, and that didn't help – the man was watching him again, had been watching him throughout the journey.  
  
"Stop staring at me!" Carl snapped, eventually. Van Helsing looked faintly surprised, but obediently turned and stared out of the porthole instead. Carl, furious with the other man for no real reason, slammed down the papers he was holding and slumped across the table, resting his aching head in his hands.  
  
"You're tired," observed his companion. "Why don't you get some sleep?"  
  
"I would if he'd let me," Carl muttered to himself, unaware that he was speaking aloud.  
  
"Who?" Van Helsing asked. He leaned forward a little, looking interested. Carl shook his head.  
  
"No one. It doesn't matter. You're right, I need to sleep."  
  
The other man nodded, did not insist on further explanation. It was not until Carl had undressed, said his evening prayers (somewhat briefly) and climbed wearily into his moth-eaten bunk, that Van Helsing spoke again.  
  
"How did you know we were going to Oxford?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"When said I was going to England, you automatically suggested Oxford. Pretty strange coincidence..."  
  
"Someone must have mentioned it to me earlier," Carl replied, irritated.  
  
"That's unlikely."  
  
"Well, perhaps it was a prophecy, then! Or telepathy. I don't care, to be honest, and I'd appreciate it if you let me get some sleep."  
  
Van Helsing fell silent without even a rebuke, or a surprised remark about Carl's uncharacteristic rudeness. Faintly ashamed of his outburst, but too tired to really care, Carl closed his eyes and fell into an exhausted sleep.  
  
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"Did you have the dream again?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Last night – did you dream about this priest of yours?"  
  
Van Helsing glanced down at Carl, trotting beside him, looking more or less his usual self, though a little strained. This mysterious nightmare was worrying him, and Van Helsing wanted to know why.  
  
"I did...yes."  
  
"Did you see his face?" Van Helsing asked, his tone casual. Carl shrugged.  
  
"Not yet...I dare say I will."  
  
The friar was unusually silent, and had been ever since they had disembarked from the ship at Dover. They were in Oxfordshire now, had left their meagre belongings at an inn, and were heading for the object of their mission.  
  
"I've seen inside the church now," said Carl, suddenly, when they were close to their destination. Van Helsing shot him a swift, sharp look, but said only,  
  
"Oh? What's it like?"  
  
"Grim," replied Carl; his tone was light, conversational, but he wasn't fooling Van Helsing, who recognised both fear and disgust in his friend's voice. "It was very dark, and rather mouldy, and the floor was covered with dead people."  
  
"What!?"  
  
"Dead people...sacrificial victims. I think perhaps the Priest is some kind of Satanist."  
  
"You talk about him as though he exists."  
  
Carl gazed vaguely into the distance, but did not reply, and Van Helsing did not press him. In truth, he was rather afraid of the answer. He was also more than usually nervous at the approach of their mission.  
  
He could see the church now, rising on a hill in front of them, a battered, dilapidated, grim building of grey stone. Its windows were mostly broken, with only a single rectangle of stained glass whole, its images distorted by age and dust.  
  
"This is the place," he began, turning to Carl – but the friar had stopped several paces back, frozen, staring fixedly at the church ahead of them.  
  
"It isn't possible," he said weakly, looking so shaken that Van Helsing quickly moved to his side to steady him, should he faint.  
  
"What's wrong?" he asked, knowing what the answer would be, and feeling his stomach lurch with the knowledge.  
  
"The church," Carl whispered, his eyes never leaving it. "It's the same one...I saw it in my dreams. It's the same church. What does it mean?" he turned terrified eyes on Van Helsing. "You know, don't you? You know what that church is, what the demon is that lurks inside it? Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
His voice rose to a near-hysterical pitch, and Van Helsing took his arm, steering him to a patch of grass, and sat him down firmly. The church was in a deeply rural area, and the road was empty, the only sound a light summer breeze rustling in a grove of oaks partly obscuring their view of the steeple. There was no one to hear.  
  
"I know something about the church," Van Helsing said, keeping his voice calm and steady. "And yes, I think I can identify your priest."  
  
"And you chose not to tell me this?" Carl was hurt, and confused, and afraid. Van Helsing could hardly blame him.  
  
"I was under orders not to do so. I'm sorry," he said, feeling helpless. "You're sure you recognise the church?"  
  
"Positive! I've seen it every night for almost a week. Given that the blasted thing has haunted me for six nights I think I should bloody well know what it looks like!" the Friar was flushed with vexation. Van Helsing could not remember ever seeing him so angry and frustrated – or indeed angry at all.  
  
"Take it easy," he murmured.  
  
"Easy! You're not the one being..."  
  
"All right, all right. I'll tell you everything I know, I promise. Try to calm down."  
  
"Will you tell me what it means? Am I allowed to know that?"  
  
"Just listen, Carl, please. I'm on your side. I didn't want to keep you in the dark about this. I wish I hadn't."  
  
Carl looked slightly mollified. He plucked at the grass for a moment, then turned fretful eyes on his friend.  
  
"Well then – tell me."  
  
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	4. Chapter Four

A/N Thank you very much indeed to everyone who has reviewed so far! I really appreciate your comments. Apologises for the cliffhanger - for both the previous one, and the one to come, in fact :-) Don't worry, I'm writing this really quickly, so it should be updated again very soon.

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Tallander was a priest.  
  
Or rather, he wore the face of a priest; the vestments of a priest, the manner of a priest. He wore the latter as he would a suit of clothes, for he was a master of disguise.  
  
Tallander had lived for a long, long time, although perhaps 'lived' is stretching the meaning of the word; he existed, certainly, he subsisted, in a strange and dreadful way beyond the understanding of mortal men.  
  
Tallander maintained his existence by travelling, or as he sometimes called it, partnership. Every now and then, he would choose a host, and they would become partners together, each feeding upon the other, sharing their talents, their abilities, their body. Partners always fought at first, but in the end, they acquiesced – because Tallander could give them what they wanted. Anything they wanted. And how did he achieve it for them, this magnanimous traveller? By mystic powers? By crime? No – Tallander got what he wanted, and what his all-important partners wanted, by sheer force of personality.  
  
Tallander was unique, or so he liked to think. No one had ever managed to destroy him – though one, years ago, had made a fine attempt. In a church; in Tallander's church, one of many, in a small English village where he had set about a new partnership. The priest he had chosen to be his partner on this occasion had fallen in line with his wishes so easily it was really quite disappointing, but Tallander made efficient use of him, and soon had a worthy flock.  
  
And then the other had come, doubting, sowing the seeds of discord in the minds of Tallander's flock. And he had struck out against Tallander, hurting him, weakening him. Tallander had been furious; but his assailant had died, and he had subsisted. As he always did.  
  
Tallander had been silent for decades, rebuilding his great strength; now he sought another partner, someone he could tempt and subvert easily to his will– and yet he craved a complex mind, a brilliant mind, an intellect as sharp as his own. And, of course, it had to be a holy man – a man of God. That was essential.  
  
The choice was obvious, really.  
  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
  
There was a long silence when Van Helsing finished his narrative. The sun was sinking now, casting long shadows across the grassy hill on which he and Carl sat. After a long moment, the friar looked up at him.  
  
"You're saying that this Tallander, this dark priest, wants – me? As his...his what, exactly?"  
  
Van Helsing did not answer; he did not need to. Carl was quite intelligent enough to work out the answer for himself. He did.  
  
"Oh, my God."  
  
"I wasn't supposed to tell you this," Van Helsing remarked, as the horror of the situation hit Carl fully. "I was supposed to take you to the church, find out whether Tallander was really stalking you, and then watch for signs."  
  
"What...what sort of signs?"  
  
"Nothing I've seen, thankfully." He looked down at Carl, who had slumped down on the grass, his face deathly pale.  
  
"What will he do to me?" the friar asked eventually. "How will he – possess me?"  
  
"Not much is known about his exact methods," Van Helsing struggled to keep his voice steady and his tone professional, but the look of frightened misery – and betrayal – on Carl's face made him feel utterly wretched. He gave up.  
  
"I'm going to help you," he said earnestly, looking into his friend's eyes. "I won't let this thing hurt you. I promise."  
  
"This 'thing' is already inside my head, Van Helsing. What in the world can you possibly do? It's not a monster – not the kind you usually fight. Weapons won't touch it." He stared blankly at the church, watching as it became a black silhouette before the setting sun. "I'm doomed," he said, quietly.  
  
"Don't talk like that. This isn't over. You have to fight him, Carl."  
  
"Fight what? He hasn't done anything yet."  
  
"You said you went inside the church in your last dream..."  
  
"Yes..."  
  
"Then next time you sleep will be the time you face him," Van Helsing said grimly. "And you have to be ready."  
  
"Ready for what?" Carl spluttered. "If you know so much about this, tell me what will happen!"  
  
"But I don't know."  
  
"Well, that's a bit bloody useless, if you don't mind my saying so! The bloody fount of all damned knowledge seems to have dried up, doesn't it?"  
  
"Take it easy."  
  
"And stop telling me to take it bloody easy!" Carl snapped, so ferociously that Van Helsing felt almost as though he'd been struck. Carl could be irritable sometimes when disturbed in his work, but he had never been like this – he had always been so amicable, so gentle. Van Helsing closed his eyes, fighting his own fear and concern. At the back of his mind, a nasty voice was telling him that it had started already, that the man he was talking with and trying to comfort was no longer entirely the same person he had met seven years ago. But that could not be – Carl had not yet faced Tallander in his dreams, and that, surely, was the crucial point.  
  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
  
"It won't help," Van Helsing said. They were sitting in the double bedroom they shared at the inn, or at least, Van Helsing was sitting while Carl paced restlessly.  
  
"You can't put it off," Van Helsing went on. "It isn't going to go away, Carl."  
  
"You're essentially telling me that the next time I go to sleep, I might well die. I don't think it's unreasonable to want to delay that as much as possible."  
  
"But you can fight him. And you can win. You will win."  
  
"Has anyone, ever?" that stopped Van Helsing in his tracks. He hesitated, but before he could formulate an answer, Carl provided it himself.  
  
"Of course they haven't – otherwise we'd know about it, wouldn't we? We would know how they did it, what exactly happened to them...what Tallander's method is..." he sank suddenly into a chair, burying his face in his hands. Van Helsing went to him and laid a hand on his shoulder, powerless to do anything else. This was one fight Carl had to face alone.  
  
"If he was flesh and blood and I could reach him, I'd gladly fight him for you," he said, quietly. "And just as gladly, I'd take this burden on myself. But I can't. It's fallen to you, and you have to bear it. I believe you can do it. You have the most extraordinary mind of any man I've ever met."  
  
Carl gave a wan smile. "Coming from you, I suppose that means I'm three parts insane." He sighed. "All right. You're right, the only way to deal with this situation is to face him..." he broke off, looking Van Helsing in the eyes for the first time. "But I'm frightened," he whispered. "I don't want to face him alone."  
  
Van Helsing squeezed his shoulder.  
  
"You won't be alone."  
  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
  
In truth, of course, all men are alone when they sleep – and when they die. Van Helsing sat at his friend's bedside through the night, watching Carl as he slept, anxiously searching his face for any sign of what might be transpiring within his dreams. There was nothing; Carl slept deeply, his breathing shallow and his face pale, never moving. There was something unnatural about that stillness.  
  
Dawn broke, and still Carl slept, with Van Helsing watching over him. In his hand he clutched the telegram he had received earlier that day from Rome, the one he had carefully kept hidden from Carl. It was from Cardinal Jinette himself, and said that Father Michael would be coming to England as soon as possible to ensure that Van Helsing remained impartial enough to complete his mission 'as discussed'.  
  
As discussed. How did you 'discuss' the prospect of killing your best friend? When did a man's life become a point in a debate? Jinette's argument had been brutally logical and simple: Tallander was a threat which must be destroyed. If Carl could be spared, that was all to the good – he was a useful member of the Order. But if Tallander should succeed in possessing Carl, Van Helsing must not hesitate to take advantage of this – for Tallander could only be destroyed when inhabiting a human body, and even then, only on the consecrated ground of the church in which a young man named Reicher had once come so very close to eradicating him. In his weakness, it was speculated, Tallander was drawing on the souls of those who had been sacrificed under his direction, in order to survive.  
  
Van Helsing's orders were simple. As soon as he could be certain that Tallander had taken full possession of Carl's body, and the friar could not be saved, Van Helsing was to take him to the Church of the Sorrowful Mother, and kill him.  
  
Simple.  
  
Whether Van Helsing could bring himself to do it remained to be seen. He prayed he would not be tested in that way, over and over again as he sat by Carl's bed. Prayed that Carl would defeat Tallander and that all would be well. He could not help remembering, however, that no one yet had prevailed over the dark priest, and as he gazed upon his friend's sleeping face, he prayed as well for the strength to release him from the torment Tallander would bring, should it become necessary...he gazed down helplessly at the bed...  
  
And, as sunlight filtered through the dirty window and fell upon his pale, still face, Carl's eyes begin to open.


	5. Chapter Five

Van Helsing forced himself to remain silent and still as Carl slowly awoke, his eyelids flickering, his eyes opening slowly. The friar looked around sleepily, then blinked, obviously still half-asleep. Van Helsing resisted the urge to shake him.  
  
Eventually Carl focussed on him, and smiled. He looked dishevelled, tired – as though he had not slept at all – but normal. He looked...like Carl.  
  
"Are you all right?" Van Helsing demanded, searching his friend's face. Carl gazed back at him, and the monster hunter felt the tension in his gut evaporate. A man possessed would surely not look so calm.  
  
"I think so," Carl replied. He gave a faint, nervous smile. "I...I think it's over. He's gone. I think."  
  
"Gone? You defeated him? You're sure?" He had hardly dared hope. There was an anxious pause, then Carl said,  
  
"I'm sure!" his expression brightened suddenly, as though taking in the meaning of his own words for the first time. "After all that...he just...gave up. Incredible. I should write a report about it...this is amazing..." he looked into Van Helsing's eyes. "I thought I was going to die, last night. Thank you for staying with me."  
  
"I should have done more than that," muttered Van Helsing. He felt weak with relief, but until he had unburdened himself to Carl he could not properly appreciate the wonderful, miraculous thing that had happened.  
  
"What do you mean?" Carl sat up in bed, his gentle blue eyes fixed on Van Helsing, trepidation in his voice now. "Is there something else...?"  
  
"Nothing that matters now," Van Helsing replied firmly. He hesitated, something he rarely did – but how did you tell a man you had been considering taking his life, when that man meant more to you than any other living person? Van Helsing had no delusions about it; he had allowed himself to get close to only two people in the few years of his life he could remember, and Carl was the only one, now. Perhaps...perhaps that had always been true, and everything else had been the delusion – born out of a sense of hopelessness, of impossibility...  
  
He shook himself. Now was not the time.  
  
"There's something I have to – confess – to you."  
  
"Confess your sins and be forgiven," Carl joked weakly, but there was anxiety in his eyes. Van Helsing steeled himself. There was no point in dissembling; he had always been one for directness.  
  
"They sent us here for me to kill you," he said, hoping the words came out as a clear, though guilty statement, and knowing he had blurted them in his fear at the thought of losing Carl's friendship.  
  
There was silent for a long time. Carl stared out of the dirty window, watching the village come alive below. Van Helsing stared at Carl, trying to divine what he was thinking. Eventually, the friar said quietly,  
  
"Would you have done it? Had it been necessary?"  
  
A question Van Helsing had asked himself over and over again since this mission – this travesty of an assignment – had begun. He had been relieved that it no longer mattered that he did not know the answer – and now, he found that he had all along.  
  
"Yes," he said simply. Carl nodded.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"What? Aren't you angry?"  
  
"Why would I be?" he smiled faintly. "I would have done the same for you, after all. In Transylvania, remember?"  
  
Van Helsing nodded slowly. He had not really expected Carl to understand, had thought he would be hurt, betrayed, and furious.  
  
"You would have spared me from a lifetime of torment, watching that creature use me for its own twisted ends. I know you, Gabriel – you could not have left me to suffer like that. You're a good man," he smiled warmly, almost...tenderly...and leaned forward to place a slim, pale hand on Van Helsing's knee. Van Helsing almost drew back in surprise at the gesture – this was affectionate to the extreme, even for Carl, who was very warm-hearted – but he thought his friend might be offended. Instead, he took Carl's hand between his own and held it for a moment, silently thanking God for his mercy.  
  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
  
Van Helsing paced the small room he and Carl shared, and debated for the twentieth time whether or not to go and look for Carl. It was late, and the friar had been gone since a little after lunchtime, claiming he needed time to be by himself. Van Helsing had understood, had not offered to accompany him – but now it was almost midnight, and he was beginning to wonder where his friend could have gone for so long.  
  
When the clock struck midnight, he gave up pretending Carl had found a quiet chapel to pray in, and went to the nearest tavern to look for him. He was not there – but Van Helsing eventually found him at 'The Fighting Cock', a rather dirty looking public house a mile from the inn they had chosen to stay in.  
  
Raucous music played by a wild-looking band of gypsies was audible from the street, and Van Helsing opened the door with some trepidation. Surely Carl would not come to a place like this, even he was desperate for relaxation following his dreadful experience? He made his way through a revelling crowd to the bar, and roared a description of his friend at the publican – Carl was nowhere to be seen.  
  
"Aye," the man yelled back over the drunken whoops of his patrons. "Smallish chap with a glint in his eye. Three parts drunk when he got here, I'd wager, but carried himself well enough on it," the bartender's eyes glittered with amusement.  
  
"You're sure?" The description fit, mostly – except for one thing: Carl had absolutely no tolerance for alcohol. Van Helsing had once seen him give a humorous reproduction of Cardinal Jinette's interpretation of the Sermon on the Mount, to a crowded pub lounge, after a single pint of strong ale.  
  
"The man I'm looking for was dressed as a friar," Van Helsing added, thinking that perhaps he had not made that clear. "You know – like a monk."  
  
"I knows what a friar looks like," the publican snapped. "This lad weren't no 'oly man, I tells yer. Dressed like a gentleman."  
  
"A gentleman?" Van Helsing was baffled. Why would Carl...? This could not be the same person.  
  
"Look fer yerself," the publican growled, sending wafts of stale breath into Van Helsing's face. "But 'e won't be pleased, asked for the back room all private, he did, 'im and 'is friend." A definite leer at the end of that sentence. Couldn't be Carl, but Van Helsing decided to look anyway. Anything to get away from that dragon breath...  
  
He pushed open a dirty-looking door and came upon a squalid room no larger than the one he shared with Carl back at the inn, and far less clean. He did not really notice the room, however – only the two figures in it, one sitting on the end of the rumpled bed, wearing evening clothes with the trousers unbuttoned; the other, a blonde woman, kneeling before him, half- dressed, her intention very clear. Van Helsing choked down an exclamation, muttered,  
  
"I'm sorry..." and prepared to leave; after all, it was none of his business...  
  
He looked up, astonished, when the man spoke his name.  
  
"Van Helsing? Really, I'm not a child, you know. You don't have to come out looking for me if I'm not home before midnight."  
  
The melodious voice with its smooth intonation... the affectionately bantering tone, with a trace of pique...  
  
Oh, dear God. Van Helsing forced himself to look up; Carl was perched on the end of the bed, looking embarrassed but also a little amused, presumably at the look of complete horror on Van Helsing's face.  
  
"I never took you for an innocent..." the friar remarked. "Come now, you must have realised by now that I take my pleasures as and when I can find them.."  
  
Van Helsing could not bring himself to answer. Ignoring the half-naked woman, who was now standing up and struggling into her clothes with a fearful expression on her face, he made a grab at Carl and dragged him out through the bar and into the street.  
  
"There was no need for that...!" the friar gasped, pulling himself out of Van Helsing's grasp and weaving slightly in the light from a street lamp. He was quite obviously very drunk.  
  
"What in all the hells did you think you were doing?" Van Helsing roared, shock and disbelief fuelling his temper. "After what's happened, all you can think of is getting drunk and sleeping with whores..."  
  
"What made you think she was a whore?" Carl raised his eyebrows, but seemed more amused than offended. He giggled lightly. "Not at all. Why – do you think what I was doing went against God? Nothing is against God...he created everything, did he not? Including all of us unnatural, pleasure-loving hedonists. Though I consider myself more a libertine."  
  
"Pull yourself together man, for God's sake!"  
  
"And here we are again with God. Why are you so eager to denounce my actions, Van Helsing? You don't really consider what I was doing to be immoral...you would have left, politely, had anyone else but myself been in that room."  
  
Van Helsing grabbed at him again and began to pull him along the street, towards the inn, his face flushed red with mortification. Carl's private life was his own sordid business, but witnessing it was not the most pleasant of experiences. And there was something sordid about this, something very unlike Carl.  
  
"I know what the real problem is," Carl went on, slurring a little but loud enough to be distinct. His tone was honeyed, insinuating. "I think you are jealous."  
  
Van Helsing stopped in mid-stride, turned, and slapped Carl sharply across the face.  
  
"I don't know what devil has possessed you," he began...then froze. Because he did know – how could he have been so blind? How could he have accepted Carl's insistence that it was all over, that he had won, just because he had been so desperate to hear it? Fool! Five hundred times a fool!  
  
Feeling nauseous, he grasped Carl's shoulders and held him tightly. Carl squirmed, reaching up to touch his marked face.  
  
"That hurt," he muttered, sulkily. Van Helsing took hold of his chin and forced the friar's face upwards until their eyes met.  
  
"Tell me Tallander has gone, Carl," he whispered, struggling to keep his voice from breaking. "Tell me you defeated him."  
  
"Why?" Carl sounded bored, and not at all drunk now. "You won't believe it. I tried, you know – I thought I might string you along for, oh, a few days, while I had some fun – shocked you a little, perhaps. And as for the lady, since it seems to bother you, she really wasn't my type. It's only that I thought your dear friend would like her, and I do like to give my partners – or hosts, if you will – the things that they most desperately want."  
  
Van Helsing released Carl's shoulders and took a step away from him. Tallander. All along, it had been Tallander...how could he have missed the signs?  
  
"You're an idiot, is why," Carl – Tallander – said laconically, seemingly having read Van Helsing's thoughts, whether by some supernatural means or because they were written on his face, it was impossible to tell. "You're an idiot – and you care for him. I can understand that at least, he's charming." Tallander smiled, and it was Carl's smile, that wicked, mischievous little grin. Van Helsing was filled simultaneously with a sickened horror, and a soul-destroying sadness. In one night, Tallander had taken complete control – and Van Helsing was afraid there would be nothing left of Carl to save, even if he knew how. 


	6. Chapter Six

A/N Thank you, everyone, for the wonderful reviews! I really appreciate all your comments, and I'm glad you're enjoying the story. To clear up a few points: yes, Father Michael will make a reappearance. He's on his way to England as we speak ;-) and yes, we'll (probably) get to see Carl interacting with Tallander in some way. 

**_The inn was dark and quiet. Van Helsing made his way to the bedroom, pushing Tallander in front of him; the creature had gone along with him happily enough, making no attempt to get away, and seeming even to enjoy his company. Tallander – the demon – whatever he was – chatted amiably as they walked, and Van Helsing had to fight an urge to strike him. He did not want to take the risk of injuring Carl – if Carl was even still alive. _**

****

**_His mind raced. He could not ignore the things Tallander said, though Jinette had warned that demons were clever in making those who tried to fight them face their own darkest secrets. Tallander, trying to confuse him; Tallander, trying to torment him, to manipulate him. There was no sense in worrying about it. Van Helsing began instead to work feverishly on formulating a plan – any kind of plan – to exorcise Tallander without hurting Carl. As he trawled through everything he knew of the dark priest, of possession, of exorcism, he could not help thinking – and the thought brought a lump to his throat – that Carl would have been so much better at this sort of thing._**

****

**_It was late – or more accurately, early; almost three in the morning, when Van Helsing found himself drifting into sleep, his head resting on the battered table, surrounded by a couple of books on possession he had brought with him, and one or two treatises from the vast collection Carl had thought it necessary to bring. Notes, scribbled hopefully then angrily crossed through, littered the desk as well, the score marks upon them vicious testimony to Van Helsing's furious helplessness._**

****

**_He had left Tallander to his own devices, and the creature had left him alone in turn, sprawling on the bed, reading Carl's books. It seemed pointless to stop him, and it kept him quiet, kept that sinuous, sickly voice from spouting its filth. Sleep was denied Van Helsing, however; almost as soon as he had closed his eyes, that voice sounded again in his ears._**

****

**_"You're tired," so soft, so concerned. It could easily have been Carl speaking. "Why don't you sleep properly – over here?"_**

****

**_Van Helsing jerked fully awake and turned, glaring at the thing which had usurped his friend as though he could expel it with a look. Tallander smirked back at him._**

****

**_"Come and lie down," he purred. "And I shall read you a bedtime story." The priest held up a small book, bound in red leather. "So interesting."_**

****

**_"What is it?" Van Helsing demanded, with a wild hope that perhaps Tallander himself come across a method in Carl's books by which he could be expelled._**

****

**_"Ah-ah! Naughty!" Tallander pulled the book out of Van Helsing's reach as the bigger man grabbed at it. "I shall read a few lines aloud, and you can tell me if you think it would be interesting for you. Now, listen:_**

****

**_'We crossed the _****_Carpathian Mountains_****_ this evening. Horribly cold and depressing, as is VH. His mood is not good. Will not talk to me. I feel very alone here.'_**

****

**_"Sad, isn't it?" Tallander murmured, pretending to wipe away a tear. "Like a little boy writing at boarding school."_**

****

**_"What is that?" Van Helsing tried to grab the book again, but Tallander snatched it away, grinning. _**

****

**_"Can't you guess?"_**

****

**_"Carl's journal," said Van Helsing, his voice tight with anger. "You've got no right to read that. It's private."_**

****

**_"Do you honestly think there's anything in here that I don't already know? Oh, now this you will like! Our little friar is a poet…listen…"_**

****

**_"Shut up! Shut up and put it away!"_**

****

**_"You shut up, and pay attention," hissed Tallander, "or I may have to teach you some manners, Van Helsing."_**

****

**_Outraged, Van Helsing stepped closer to loom over the interloper. "And how exactly do you propose to do that?"_**

****

**_"I should have known," murmured Tallander. "The bigger they come, the stupider they are…very well, a little demonstration. Watch."_**

****

**_Tallander reached out to the small bedside table, where a candle sat burning. He passed his hand over it idly, an inch above the flame. Van Helsing watched, unable to help himself. Then, without warning, Tallander pressed the side of his hand – Carl's hand – to the fame, holding it there, singing it._**

****

**_"My God!" Van Helsing lunged forward and grabbed Tallander's hand, knocking the candle onto the floor. "What the hell are you doing? Are you insane?"_**

****

**_"Possibly," said Tallander, idly. He showed no pain whatsoever. "You see, Van Helsing, the rules of our little partnership – that of myself and your pet friar, I mean – are most interesting. Until I have him completely in my power, until he acquiesces to me, that is, I feel no physical pain inflicted upon his body. He, however…"_**

****

**_Van Helsing gritted his teeth. "Carl feels it," he growled. _**

****

**_"Yes. Wonderful, isn't it? I suppose there must be a scientific reason. Something to do with brain chemistry, probably. At any rate, your charming friend is in quite considerable pain at this moment – and it's really all your fault."_**

****

**_"Leave him alone!" But he felt a surge of hope. Carl was still alive – trapped somehow by Tallander's foul presence, but still holding on, if only there was a way to reach him. "Leave him alone," Van Helsing said, again, his voice low and threatening._**

****

**_"Behave yourself properly and I will," Tallander replied, smiling. Van Helsing, enraged by the creature's smirking face, took a step towards him, fists clenched…but Tallander merely leaned closer and whispered,_**

****

**_"He's screaming inside, you know," and Van Helsing withdrew, horrified, powerless, and wretched, to the other side of the room._**

****

**_"Now then," Tallander said cheerfully, "let us see if you have learned your lesson. Be good and quiet while I read to you, and you might learn something interesting." _**

****

**_Turning to the journal again, he read,_**

****

**_"'_** **_If ever I could utter those few words_**

**_Caught for half a lifetime in my heart_**

**_My entreaties to you never would be heard_**

**_Or worse, would draw our tangled paths apart._**

**_Can such passion be called merely devotion - _**

**_The strength and beauty of Platonic love?_**

**_Or is there in my soul greater emotion,_**

**_Dark desire I cannot rise above?_**

**_What would you say, my friend, my heart's companion,_**

**_If these words would ever reach your ears?_**

**_It torments me to imagine a reaction_**

**_That would after all be constant with my fears._**

**_Though ever shall I love, I'll silent be,_**

**_While in my dreams, you shall ever love me.'_**

****

**_"So sad! So desperate! So haunting! _****_Po_****_or, poor man, lonely and unloved. Can you imagine him, Van Helsing, sitting alone in his laboratory, hours after all the good little monks are tucked up in bed, writing this epistle of love for an unattainable, distant figure? Phrasing it perhaps as a letter he knew he could _****_nev_****_er send?" _**

****

**_Van Helsing could not have answered even if he chose. His face was burning with embarrassment on Carl's behalf, his hands clenched at his sides._**

****

**_"He wrote it for a pretty nun he thought he was in love with, several years ago," Tallander mused. " Ah, the minds of the young! He knows now that it was not really love, of course – just silly lust. Such a dangerous thing, lust…never mind. It doesn't really matter for him now anyway. I think, given the circumstances, that Hell is the inevitable destination for our young friend."_**

****

**_Unable to bear any more, Van Helsing slammed out of the room, fighting not to hear Tallander's amused chuckle as it followed him._**

****

**_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_**

****

**_Carl was alive – that was what Van Helsing had to focus on. If he could only talk to Carl, know that he was still sane in there, still fighting for his life…if only he could comfort Carl and tell him that he must not give up, that Van Helsing would fight for him unto his last breath._**

****

**_Perhaps if he could persuade Tallander to allow him to communicate with Carl; it must surely be possible. If only there was a way to fight Tallander directly, with Carl safely out of the line of fire…_**

****

**_Slowly, a plan formed in Van Helsing's mind; a dangerous plan, a crazy plan perhaps, but all he had at the moment. Taking a deep breath, he returned to the bedroom, to Tallander._**

****

**_The small man was still lounging on the bed, reading Carl's journal with apparently sincere interest. He looked up as Van Helsing walked in._**

****

**_"Decided to be civil, eh? I was worried that you might choose to sleep in the corridor. There's a dreadful draught out there, you know."_**

****

**_Van Helsing ignored this. He went straight to the point. "The only thing stopping me from killing you," he said, "is that you claim Carl is still alive, sharing that physical body with you."_**

****

**_"Why so surprised?" Tallander asked. "It's still the friar's brain in his head, after all. Yes, he's here. Why, is there a message?"_**

****

**_"I want to talk to him."_**

****

**_Tallander looked unsurprised. "I'm not an idiot," he said, concisely._**

****

**_"What if I don't believe that Carl is alive? What's to stop me killing you then?"_**

****

**_"The possibility that he might be," replied the priest, laconically._**

****

**_"What if I think that Carl is suffering and in pain, perhaps driven mad by your twisted mind? What if I want to put him out of his misery?"_**

****

**_"Are you threatening me, Van Helsing? You're doing it rather badly, you know."_**

****

**_"Let me see him just for a minute. Let him talk to me. Then I'll believe you. And what's more…I'll strike a bargain with you."_**

****

**_There was a pause. Tallander looked thoughtful._**

****

**_"Is this a game I'll like?" he asked, eventually, "or is it a trick?"_**

****

**_"No tricks. Here's the bargain, whether you take it or not is up to you. Let Carl talk to me, to prove he's still in there and still sane. Then…then I'll allow you to take me instead, if you'll let him go."_**

****

**_Tallander burst into laughter. It was not the reception Van Helsing had hoped for._**

****

**_"Dear me! How…how arrogant you are! Tell me, Mr. Big Important Monster Hunter, why I should prefer you to your friend here." He smirked. "Well?"_**

****

**_"I have important connections in the _****_Vatican_****_."_**

****

**_"So does the friar."_**

****

**_"Not in the same way. I have sway over the people in charge."_**

****

**_"Rubbish. You're a puppet on their string."_**

****

**_"I have power – history…" Van Helsing tailed off._**

****

**_"Yes, your physical strength is considerable, and from what I know of your personal history, it's fascinating." Tallander paused, seeming to think deeply. "I don't know – you may be strong, and powerful, but your mind is not worth a hundredth of your little friend's. He's a genius, you know."_**

****

**_"I know," Van Helsing replied, gripped by an inexpressible sadness. "He…he tells me often enough." It was hopeless. Tallander would not make the exchange. He wanted Carl, not Van Helsing._**

****

**_"Oh, you're going to make me cry," Tallander said, and he sounded genuinely upset. "Perhaps I should let you have your wish, after all. You would be useful to me…and I think I might be able to convince your friend to retain his loyalty to you when you and I become 'us'. Yes, I think I could…and then I would have you both, wouldn't I?"_**

****

**_Van Helsing did not reply. Filled with hope, he waited for Tallander to talk himself into the bargain._**

****

**_"Very well," the Priest said, suddenly brisk._**

****

**_"I want to see Carl first," Van Helsing answered, sharply. Tallander rolled his eyes, but nodded. "Sit down – this will take a moment."_**

****

**_Van Helsing sat on the edge of the bed, watching Tallander closely. The priest's expression did not change as he sat very still, his eyes staring blankly at the opposite wall. His head sank onto his chest, and Van Helsing leaned forward, anxious, expectant, as the man before him slowly raised his head, and gazed into Van Helsing's eyes._**

****

**_Van Helsing's heart almost stopped. He was looking at Carl._**


	7. Chapter Seven

A/N Another chapter! Thanks to everyone who pointed out that chapter six went very strange in the uploading. It seems to be fine now. I tried to post a link to the slash version of this story – and ff.net went bananas! If you'd like to read the slash version (different from chapter 5 onwards, with some explicit – though not gratuitous – NC17 stuff) please email me for the link. Petlunatic at hotmail.com N.B: There will be NO SLASH, or anything beyond PG-13, in the version of the story posted here at ff.net. I'm trying to please everybody :-) If you do read both versions, I'd love to know which you prefer.  
  
Thanks so much for all your reviews, they mean a great deal to me! XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
  
Carl stared back at Van Helsing, his eyes wide and filled with unimaginable horror. Van Helsing reached out to him, wanting to comfort him – but before he could move closer, Carl had flung himself across the small distance between them and into Van Helsing's arms, where he rested his head against the bigger man's chest, and sobbed. Pained and shocked, Van Helsing held him, wondering what horrors Tallander must have been inflicting on the friar's mind to make him respond as violently as this.  
  
"It's going to be all right, Carl," Van Helsing told his friend, in as soothing a tone as he could manage. "I'm going to help you. Everything will be all right."  
  
Carl sniffed and snuggled closer, then raised his face to look at Van Helsing.  
  
"I knew you wouldn't forsake me," he whispered. "I don't want to die, Gabriel; please, find some other way to end this!"  
  
"I will," Van Helsing held him more tightly, "I promise you."  
  
The smaller man grinned up at him, no sign of distress – or indeed anything else – in his eyes now.  
  
"How very kind," he purred.  
  
"Tallander," Van Helsing hissed. "It was you all along, wasn't it?"  
  
"Can you be absolutely certain of that?" The priest asked, still smirking. "He begged you not to hurt him..."  
  
"That was you," snapped Van Helsing.  
  
"Positive?" Tallander shot back. Van Helsing had no answer. He had been so sure he had seen Carl...spoken to him...but then, the fervour of his distress followed by the abrupt mockery was out of character. Carl would not behave like that, of that Van Helsing was certain – but perhaps Carl's mind had become unhinged, trapped by Tallander? No, he could not be sure.  
  
"Now for the rest of our bargain," Tallander continued. "You wanted, I believe, to trade. Is that still your intention?" his voice was brisk and businesslike.  
  
"Yes," Van Helsing replied, grimly.  
  
"Very good," Tallander clapped his hands. "You will, I hope, find the process enjoyable."  
  
Van Helsing doubted it. "What does it involve?"  
  
"There are various methods by which we might make the – exchange – all involving intense intimacy. I hope that doesn't bother you?" he paused, then before Van Helsing could answer, went on, "of course not, you would suffer any pain or degradation for your friend, wouldn't you? Noble man. How nice."  
  
"Just tell me what I have to do." Van Helsing growled. His stomach was knotting at the prospect of any kind of 'intimacy' with this creature – but Tallander was right about one thing: he would do anything, anything at all, if it meant saving Carl.  
  
Tallander smiled in a way Van Helsing really did not like; it was almost – coy, with an element of hideous pleasure underneath.  
  
"As I said, various methods – and for the purposes of our bargain, you will accept whichever I choose."  
  
Van Helsing hesitated.  
  
"Or the deal is off," Tallander continued, bluntly.  
  
"All right."  
  
Tallander reached into Carl's bag of weapons, and extracted a small, sharp- edged dagger.  
  
"An exchange of blood," he said. "Yours for your little friend's. You'll be required to drink it," he smirked. "And of course, you'll be required to make the cuts...it will hurt the friar horribly, I'm afraid, and leave a nasty scar. But there will be no mortal damage."  
  
Van Helsing was a brave man, and willing to do even the most heinous thing if he believed it to be for the good...but he could not bring himself to injure Carl.  
  
"No," he growled. "You said there were alternatives. Suggest one."  
  
"No? What a shame. I'm afraid I don't take kindly to people going back on their word, Mr. Van Helsing. And I'm afraid that your dear friend will have to pay the price for that."  
  
As Van Helsing watched in dumb horror, Tallander selected a sharp, short- bladed dagger from a bag of weapons in a corner of the room. He drew back his sleeve and placed the blade against his arm.  
  
"This will hurt horribly," he said, pleasantly, cutting into the flesh. A thin line of blood appeared on Tallander's – on Carl's – pale skin.  
  
"Stop!" Van Helsing made a grab at him, but Tallander immediately pressed the blade against his own throat.  
  
"You wouldn't do it," Van Helsing said, but his tone betrayed his uncertainty. Tallander was insane enough to do it, perhaps. But what would be gain?  
  
"I might, you know, if you annoyed me enough. Or I might cut off one of his hands. Wouldn't be much use as an inventor without them...alternatively, I could simply destroy his mind, and return him to you as a helpless, drooling, babbling wretch fit only for the asylum."  
  
That image was too much for Van Helsing. He was sure Tallander was not bluffing, and that he could do all he threatened.  
  
"All right," he said, very quietly.  
  
"Good!" Tallander smiled, toying idly with the knife. "I'll need to make an incision in your neck, among other places. Don't worry...I have no interest in killing you. It will hurt, however." Tallander took the knife, and passed the blade slowly over a candle, heating it.  
  
"Why are you doing that?" Van Helsing demanded.  
  
"Oh, ritualistic purposes..." Tallander smirked.  
  
"You're enjoying this," Van Helsing growled.  
  
"Take off your shirt," said Tallander. "And don't flatter yourself that I've taken a fancy to you..." he chuckled. "I'm doing this because I want to degrade you, shame you, have power over you."  
  
"Not exactly subtle, are you?"  
  
"What's the point?" Tallander slipped off his own shirt, and Van Helsing looked away; but the smaller man grabbed his chin and forced his gaze back to him.  
  
"A little out of training, isn't he, your friend the friar? I suppose he doesn't get much exercise in his laboratory. I can soon improve that."  
  
"Shut up."  
  
Tallander smiled again, and beckoned Van Helsing closer to him. "Just a little blood-letting, for your friend's sake...try to relax, this might sting a little." He drew the heated blade across Van Helsing's chest, inscribing a cross – down, back up, left, and right. It burned hideously, and the monster hunter fought not to cry out with the pain, clenching his fists tightly at his sides. Blood ran down his chest, across his stomach, soaking into the waistband of his trousers. Tallander watched it, apparently transfixed.  
  
"Your turn," he breathed, and gave the knife to Van Helsing. He hesitated.  
  
"Do it," Tallander hissed, "exactly as I did to you..."  
  
Praying to God for forgiveness, Van Helsing pricked Tallander's – Carl's – pale skin with the blade.  
  
"Deeper," the priest purred. Van Helsing did as he was told, eyes narrowed, teeth gritted. Blood poured down Carl's chest as Van Helsing transcribed the form of the cross.  
  
"Is that it?" he demanded. Tallander shook his head.  
  
"There will be many more cuts...some deeper than others, before morning." He took back the blade. "Bear your throat..."  
  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
  
Van Helsing awoke slowly. His body felt raw, brutalised – but it was nothing compared to how he felt in his heart. Filthy. Disgusted with himself. He felt both as though he had been raped, and committed rape...thinking of Carl, taken along helplessly with their depraved blood- letting. It had become savage, violent, a contest, each man struggling to assert his personality over the other, with Van Helsing's physical strength doing little to aid him in the face of Tallander's horrible magnetism.  
  
Van Helsing's face burned with shame as he remembered how he had torn into the pale flesh of Carl's body, mutilating it, tasting the raw coppery blood. He knew, of course, that Tallander had had him in his power, and that his behaviour was no more his fault than Tallander's was Carl's. But still...Tallander had said he would feel shamed, and he did.  
  
Where was Tallander? Van Helsing listened for him in his mind. He had no idea what to expect of this possession – would he hear Tallander's voice? Feel his emotions? Or would his own personality simply begin to disappear, stolen piece by piece?  
  
There was certainly no sign of the dark priest now. Van Helsing rolled over, wincing in pain, and was startled to find Carl sitting beside the bed, watching him. Anxiously Van Helsing looked his friend over for signs of injury, madness, whatever else Tallander might have done to him – but Carl looked perfectly serene, despite the many, thin cuts disfiguring his bare chest and arms, and throat. In fact, he was smiling. Could it be possible that this was over? That Van Helsing – or Carl, or both of them together – had defeated Tallander, and cast him out? Eagerly, Van Helsing sat up.  
  
"Carl? Are you all right?"  
  
The little friar looked amused. "Well, good morning. You've been asleep for such a long time."  
  
"How much do you remember?" Van Helsing demanded. Carl, still smiling, stretched himself languorously.  
  
"You're the one who suffers from amnesia, Gabriel...how much do you remember?" he grinned his wicked grin, and Van Helsing smiled back faintly, finding it odd that Carl should make a joke about something so hideous.  
  
"What happened to him?"  
  
"Tallander?"  
  
"Yes, of course Tallander."  
  
Carl's grin widened. "You really don't know, do you?" he sighed, shook his head. "Like I said, the bigger they come, the stupider they are. Nonetheless, I enjoyed our...intimacy."  
  
Van Helsing felt suddenly nauseous. He sank back in the bed.  
  
"You tricked me," he hissed. "You never intended to follow through with our bargain."  
  
"It was very easy," Tallander, for of course it was he, smiled Carl's mischievous smile again. "You flattered yourself...thinking I might want you. I'm not interested in your strength, or your size, or anything else about you, for that matter. Your mind bores me."  
  
"Bastard," Van Helsing growled. His gripped the bedclothes tightly, fighting the urge to kill Tallander where he stood. Instead he ground out, "Why? Why did you do it? Just to make me suffer? To torment me?"  
  
"You were doing that perfectly well by yourself!" Tallander retorted. "My reasons were far less vulgar. It was about proving to your little friend just how powerful I can be....I don't think your friend believed me, when I told him that given the opportunity, I could conquer even you, make you betray yourself – and him. I decided to offer him some proof. He wept when you cut him. Have I explained everything sufficiently now – or would you like me to do it again in words of one syllable?"  
  
Unable to look at the sneering face for another second, Van Helsing closed his eyes tightly. He had failed...it was over. There was nothing more he could do. He remained upon the bed as Tallander bustled about, dressing in his neat gentleman's clothing.  
  
"It's almost lunchtime," he said cheerily, after a while. "Would you like anything?"  
  
Van Helsing glowered at him, and Tallander shrugged. "How lazy it is! At least put some clothes on..."  
  
He paused, eyes widening. Van Helsing watched as Tallander's face slowly drained of colour; the priest stood rigid, every sense alert.  
  
"What is it?" Van Helsing asked, but Tallander had recovered himself, and was jaunty again.  
  
"Nothing," he said, brightly. "But I think we have a visitor on the way...I heard a footstep on the stairs."  
  
Van Helsing had heard nothing, but he rose quickly and threw on his clothes. A few moments later, a knock came at the door, and Tallander opened it to admit the landlady.  
  
"There's someone here to see you," she said briskly, ignoring Van Helsing's unkempt appearance. "He's waiting for you downstairs. A priest, he is. Says his name's Father Michael." 


	8. Chapter Eight

A/N Thank you all for the reviews, of both this version and the slash one! N.B., I reiterate, no slash in this version. :-) XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
  
"Father Michael?" Tallander snapped, when the landlady had left them to usher the priest upstairs. "Who is he?"  
  
Was it Van Helsing's imagination, or did Tallander sound worried?  
  
"He's a priest," the monster hunter replied, evenly.  
  
"I gathered that," replied Tallander, regaining his composure. "Why is he here? How is he connected to you?"  
  
There seemed little point in lying. "Father Michael has been sent here to help me in my mission."  
  
"Destroying me?" Tallander looked amused. "And will he do it?"  
  
Van Helsing did not reply. He had received a note from Michael when the young Irishman had arrived at Dover, but with everything that had happened he had completely forgotten it. Michael had assured Van Helsing that he had no intention of harming Carl, who was, he said, his best friend in the Vatican. Van Helsing was surprised at the depth of the relief he felt, knowing Michael was here and on his side – on Carl's side. He had almost always worked alone in the past, but this was so much different to everything he had experienced.  
  
A footstep on the stairs was quickly followed by Father Michael's arrival in the room. He looked tired and anxious, as though he had not slept properly in some time, and his gaze fixed immediately upon Tallander. He crossed himself.  
  
"Oh, dear God...Carl..."  
  
Tallander's reaction was striking, the expression on his face a mixture of fury, disbelief, and, Van Helsing could have sworn, alarm...then it was gone, and the creature was smiling his dreadful, sickly smile again.  
  
"Pleased to meet you, Father."  
  
"I wish I could say the same...Father."  
  
"And have you met the great Van Helsing, here?" Tallander asked, still smiling. Michael stared back levelly.  
  
"Of course. I know Van Helsing well," he held out his hand to the monster hunter, who had been watching the exchange with interest, and some confusion.  
  
"Forgive my rudeness, Mr. Van Helsing. I was a little overwhelmed..." he shot Tallander a pained look. Van Helsing understood entirely – seeing that awful expression cross Carl's gentle, deceptively innocent face had hurt him too, in ways he had never imagined possible.  
  
Tallander sat on the bed, strangely silent, while Van Helsing offered Michael a drink. He accepted a glass of somewhat murky water and sat down, leaning close to Van Helsing to ask in a low voice,  
  
"What...what exactly has that thing done to Carl? Has he harmed you?"  
  
Van Helsing looked away for a moment, debating how to answer. There was no point in telling Michael about his failed bargain with Tallander, and he felt no particular need to unburden himself on that topic.  
  
"Tallander doesn't feel physical pain – he's injured Carl twice, to prove a point. I can't get at him," frustration welled up; Van Helsing was almost shouting, "for fear of harming Carl."  
  
Michael was silent for a moment, looking across at Tallander, who was listening to their conversation. "Get out," he said, briskly. Tallander glared at him.  
  
"Why should I? Why don't you piss off to your own room, cretin?"  
  
Michael glanced at Van Helsing. "Perhaps we should discuss the situation in my room. It's next door...we would hear Tallander if he tried to leave."  
  
"Where would I go?" asked Tallander, sulkily. "Get lost, both of you. I haven't had a moment's peace for myself since I possessed this wretched little friar."  
  
Van Helsing and Michael stepped next door. Michael's room was as small and dirty as the other.  
  
"He's different," Van Helsing said, in a low voice. "He seems...angry. He wasn't like this before."  
  
"Seems to have taken a dislike to me," said Michael, lightly.  
  
"Why? Do you have any idea?" was it something they could use?  
  
"None at all...perhaps because I'm a priest?"  
  
"Perhaps," murmured Van Helsing, thoughtfully. That look on Tallander's face...as though he'd seen a ghost...  
  
Van Helsing turned back to Michael. Perhaps the young man could bring a fresh perspective to the situation, maybe even suggest a course of action.  
  
"Any ideas?" the monster hunter asked. "Because I'm fresh out of them."  
  
Father Michael did not answer for a moment. He gazed at the floor, chewing his lip, as though screwing up his courage. Then he raised his head and said quietly,  
  
"You know what we have to do."  
  
Van Helsing felt as though his blood had turned to ice in his veins. He had expected an ally – surely Michael could not be suggesting what he seemed to be?  
  
"You said you had no intention of harming him!"  
  
"That was before I saw him." Father Michael spoke sadly, but with a ring of conviction in his voice. "You have to face the truth, Van Helsing – Carl is gone. All that remains is to destroy the thing that killed him while we still can."  
  
"No!" Van Helsing was on his feet now, eyes blazing, all his anger and frustration and fear welling up inside him until he thought his heart would explode from it. Father Michael – whom Van Helsing had always thought to be a timid man – did not flinch.  
  
"I won't give up," Van Helsing growled. "Carl is still in there, still alive. I know he is."  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"I've spoken to him."  
  
"Tallander is clever, and a good actor. He knows all there is to know about Carl, the way he thinks and behaves. They're integrated now – to an extent, Tallander is Carl. Of course he can impersonate him."  
  
"You seem to know an awful lot about this," Van Helsing snapped.  
  
"Cardinal Jinette briefed me before I..."  
  
"I don't care what you think you know, and I don't want your advice if all it amounts to is murdering an innocent man. I'm no murderer!"  
  
"Is that so?" murmured Michael. "Then why do they call you a murderer over several continents, Van Helsing? Why are you wanted by the police in every major city in Europe?"  
  
Something in that tone...that quiet, melodious voice saying things that cut into Van Helsing like a knife...saying them so calmly...it reminded him of Tallander. And suddenly he was suspicious of this apparently virtuous priest.  
  
"Why are you so eager to destroy him?" Van Helsing demanded. "Why not wait – find an alternative?"  
  
"Don't you understand the pain Carl must be suffering? The only way to save his soul is to destroy his body before Tallander takes complete control."  
  
"You said he had!" Van Helsing was triumphant.  
  
"I said nothing of the kind," but there was a flash of anger in Michael's eyes.  
  
"You implied it. You said that Carl and Tallander were 'integrated', one person."  
  
"I may be wrong."  
  
"You're saying anything you can to get me to kill him, aren't you? Why?"  
  
Michael gazed at the floor for a moment.  
  
"You don't have to kill him, though if you really are his friend, you would choose to. I will spare you the burden, Van Helsing." He rose to his feet, but Van Helsing blocked his path with one powerful arm.  
  
"Don't touch him," he growled.  
  
"You fool! You have no idea what Tallander is capable of!"  
  
"And you do. Tell me – and at the same time, you can tell me who you are, because you are most definitely not Father Michael."  
  
The young man glared defiantly at Van Helsing – and his eyes were not the eyes of youth. They were cold, angry, but filled with a depth of experience and wisdom no one of Michael's age could ever hope to possess. They glittered now as they fell upon the monster hunter.  
  
"Your love for Carl is admirable, Van Helsing, as is your bravery. And indeed his – I have never known anyone hold out against Tallander for so long."  
  
"He is still alive, then," Van Helsing sat down heavily.  
  
"There would be no point in my trying to deceive you; as long as there was a chance your friend lived, you would not harm Tallander, nor allow me to do it. All I can do is try to reason with you. Tallander is death, Van Helsing, and his power, if he is allowed to regain his full strength, would be considerable – and terrible. He will visit suffering on the world that even you cannot imagine. That must not happen. Surely one man's life is not too high a price to prevent it?"  
  
Van Helsing could not look at the other man. "What will he do?"  
  
Michael sat down on the bed. "He is trying to recover his former power by drawing on the strength of his unholy congregation – they whose bodies lie in the ground around the ruined church. Two hundred years ago, Tallander was prevented from completing this task – now he is making a second attempt. If he succeeds, he will be stronger than ever before. He will rally people to his dark banner, as he did before – good people, people of God, whom he will subvert to his will and sacrifice upon his unholy altar to add to his power. Once it begins, it will be near impossible to stop him. We must destroy him now, Van Helsing, while he is still vulnerable to the weapons of mortal men. We have no choice. I am sorry about your friend – but he would understand, and would want you to do this. I know it."  
  
Van Helsing closed his eyes briefly. Michael was right. Carl would never want him to sacrifice thousands of people to save one life. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked at the priest.  
  
"Who are you?" Knowing the answer.  
  
"My name is Reicher," the man replied, quietly.  
  
"You took possession of Father Michael's body. Why?"  
  
"So I could communicate with you...and so that I can destroy Tallander, as is my duty and my right. He thought he had destroyed me, years ago, when he entered my soul and tried to burn it from within. But I left the shell of my body behind, and travelled even as he did – it was the only way I could survive, and until my task is done, I cannot rest. I do not regret the lives I have taken in order to maintain my existence; they are casualties of a war they could not comprehend."  
  
"Then you are the same as him," Van Helsing said coldly. "A killer. A demon."  
  
"I am neither!" Reicher snapped back. "I serve a higher cause, Van Helsing – just as you profess to."  
  
"I profess nothing. I go where I'm sent."  
  
"And you were sent here, to rid the world of a monster greater than any you have faced before. And you say you cannot do it – are you such a coward, Van Helsing? I have offered to complete your mission for you. You would not even have to see him; I would return the body to you for burial, afterwards, if you wished."  
  
There was silence for a long moment. Reicher watched Van Helsing eagerly, his eyes glittering with triumph, with the knowledge that he had won. Eventually, Van Helsing spoke.  
  
"If you so much as touch him," he half-whispered, "I'll kill you. Understood?" he got up and left the room, leaving Reicher staring after him, furious and disbelieving.  
  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
  
Van Helsing paced the corridor, filled with a furious energy he could not contain, while at the same time struggling against despair. Reicher was right in that he had never faced anything like this before. Two beings – two demons – each trying in their own way to destroy the man who meant more to Van Helsing than anyone and anything else in his life –Carl was the only real friend he had. He could not allow it to happen.  
  
The door behind him slammed, and he turned sharply. Reicher was standing at the top of the stairs.  
  
"I'm going for a walk," he said simply. "You need time to think. Use my room. I doubt Tallander will try to escape – he is waiting for the ritual to be ready."  
  
"And when will that be?"  
  
"Tomorrow night is the two hundredth anniversary of Tallander's first attempt – and the anniversary of my corporeal death. He has a fondness for that kind of poetic aptness."  
  
"I see."  
  
"You have until tomorrow to make your decision. Good night." Michael disappeared down the stairs. Van Helsing leaned back against the wall, his head swimming. Tomorrow night. He had twenty-four hours. And then...then he would do what he must, despite his anger, despite his fear. If he could not reach Carl and find a way to save him...Van Helsing would kill him.  
  
It was his duty, and his right. 


	9. Chapter Nine

A/N Sorry for the slight delay of the posting of this latest chapter! Slight warning here for a little naughty language, nothing too serious! And plenty of angst, of course. Thank you SO much for all your wonderful reviews, I was ecstatic when they got to the 100 mark!  
  
This is the penultimate chapter (probably; anyway, we're very near the end now). XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
  
Van Helsing paced the corridor, distracted, unable to think clearly. His mind was full of the horrible image of his own hand destroying his closest friend – killing that which he cared about most, yet again. Was he doomed to spend his life doing this? Were his lost memories full of the same tragedies?  
  
Unable to bear his own company anymore, and paranoid about leaving Talander alone for too long, Van Helsing finally returned to his own room. Tallander was sitting at the desk, writing in a notebook, a sulky expression on his face.  
  
"He's told you?" the priest said.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Where is he now?"  
  
"Gone for a walk."  
  
Tallander snorted, and returned to his book.  
  
"Fool thinks he can harm me," the priest muttered, as he scribbled. "Imbecile. He failed before, he will fail again – even with you to help him, dear Gabriel."  
  
Van Helsing ignored this, instead leaning over Tallander's shoulder to see what he was writing.  
  
"Don't be nosy!" the smaller man scowled at him, then shrugged and shoved the book towards Van Helsing.  
  
"Just doodles. No grand plan, no programme of ceremonies, no lists of all the heinous things I intend to do when I regain my power." He giggled, suddenly in good humour again. "Pretty pictures," he murmured.  
  
Van Helsing took the book. The little sketches – of Van Helsing, Father Michael, and two other, strange men – were undoubtedly good. Next to them was scribbled a legend, in tiny, almost illegible script. Van Helsing squinted at it, and was just able to make out the words. Strange, disconnected words and phrases, all in Latin, mostly disjointed but occasionally a full phrase was found. It reminded Van Helsing of examples of automatic writing he had seen produced by spiritualist mediums.  
  
Aqua...aqua et igni interdicere homini...  
  
excessus...funesto...vivo...adflictatio adflictatio adflictatio adflictatio!!!!...  
  
.aqua....aqua....aqua....aqua....  
  
The word 'aqua' – water – repeated over and over, becoming larger and more insistent. Van Helsing gazed blankly at the page.  
  
"Why did you write this...?" he asked Tallander. The priest stared at him.  
  
"I wrote nothing. Why, what does it say?" snatched the book back. "Oh...oh, this. I was practising my Latin. Doodles...little doodles." He smiled serenely at Van Helsing, but his eyes were stone, for he knew that Van Helsing knew the truth.  
  
Carl had written those words. And perhaps – just perhaps – it was a message. Leaving Tallander to his own devices, Van Helsing withdrew to Reicher's room to think. 'Water' he could not understand the purpose of... "aqua et igni interdicere homini" had to do with banishment. And the repetition of "adflictatio" bothered him immensely. Adflictatio. Torture.  
  
What is he doing to you, Carl? the monster hunter thought, heart aching with the possibilities. What is it you're trying to tell me? XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
  
Tallander perched on the edge of the bed. He was bored, and impatient – and now a little concerned. Reicher, Reicher here, hunting him! The impudence of it! That cunning, sneaky little snake, coming after him like this, threatening to ruin all Tallander's lovely plans. And now, to make things worse, the friar was starting to fight back. Struggling for control. Tallander sneered; the sanctimonious little Bible-basher had no hope. He was intelligent, yes, but he was weak, and easily seduced by pleasures of the flesh...  
  
Why fight me, little friar? Tallander purred now; the sooner he forced the man to acquiesce to him, the better. Reicher could spoil everything...  
  
You know why, came the response, deep inside him. I won't allow your evil to be unleashed on the world.  
  
You can't stop it. Even your beloved dim-witted monster hunter can't stop it. No one can. This is my destiny, not yours. I was possessing lives when your great-great-grandfather was puking and shitting himself in his crib, and I'll be possessing them when all the little bastards you've doubtless sired have grown up and lie puking and shitting on their deathbeds...and when their children have...and their children's children...  
  
You'd like me to give in, submit to you of my own free will...  
  
What a nonsensical sentence.  
  
But it isn't. I can choose to submit. But I won't.  
  
You're a nuisance, is what you are! Tallander's tone was almost fond. I only want to be nice to you. You've seen what I can do for you. Imagine it – no more conscience, free to curse and drink and fornicate as you please...  
  
I do that anyway, came the friar's voice, sounding smug, and I'll continue to do so when you're puking and shitting yourself on your metaphorical deathbed, Tallander.  
  
Such language! gasped the priest.  
  
You have nothing to offer me. If you want to take my physical body, you'll just have to kill me, won't you? Except we both know that's impossible. I acquiesce, or nothing. We just go on like this, forever and ever...your voice in my head, my voice in yours. And I'll guarantee, Tallander, that I'll drive you insane long before you could do the same to me.  
  
There was really nothing to say to that. Tallander settled for digging the point of his favourite short-handled dagger into the friar's arm, instead, and slowly slitting the skin. He was rewarded with an agonised scream – no, more a squeal, the noise lambs make at the slaughter.  
  
That's it, little friar...squeal for me! There's a good boy. Now be quiet, or I'll keep on doing this.  
  
This...this is all you know, the friar's voice gasped back, raw with pain. pain, hurt, despair...it's all you understand.  
  
Only because you won't...bloody...let go! Tallander grunted, punctuating each word with a stab of the dagger into Carl's flesh. Stupid, stubborn creature! Do you think I want to hurt this body of ours? You're making me do it, he stopped, laid the dagger down. I don't want to hurt you, he said softly. Poor thing...I like you. I chose you, didn't I, above all the others? I could have had your monster hunter. Or that Cardinal you hold in such respect. I could have had your friend Michael...  
  
Except someone else has him now, don't they, Tallander?  
  
The priest cursed. He had given the little swine an opening. At first the friar had been terrified, timid, hiding from him, never speaking unless spoken to – Tallander had coaxed him out of his shell, hoping for interesting conversations during the long, boring process of taking control...but now he was bold. Partly anger – he had been different since Tallander had had his fun with Van Helsing. The priest remembered with amusement how the friar had suddenly come to life inside his head, bursting with righteous fury when his beloved monster hunter was brought to heel by the sheer power of Tallander's personality.  
  
You talk far too much, Tallander growled. I used to find it amusing, endearing, even – but it's fast becoming annoying.  
  
My voice in your head...for eternity. If you don't like it you know what you can do.  
  
You can't fight forever. You know what I'm capable of.  
  
If you hurt me enough to drive me mad, Tallander, I'll just talk all the more, you know.  
  
It doesn't matter, because it's almost over. You won't be able to resist me when I've drawn power from my flock, little friar. I won't need your...consent...anymore. I'll just take what I want of you and leave your soul to burn in Hell. There was silence. That shut you up, didn't it? And you know what else I'll do, don't you...to your monster hunter? I've told you before what my plans are for him. No quick, honourable death for the lauded Van Helsing...a lifetime of humble service will do him good, I think. Teach him some manners."  
  
A long pause, and Tallander began to smile at his victory. Then the friar said,  
  
I pity you, Tallander. You've forgotten everything that was light and good. You've forgotten compassion, you've forgotten love. I pity you.  
  
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Reicher had not yet returned from his 'walk'. Van Helsing was beginning to wonder whether the mysterious being had returned to the ether from whence he came, leaving Michael stumbling bewildered through an unfamiliar city. Exasperated, he paced the room again and again, letting his mind wander. He had given up trying to form a coherent plan, and had decided to allow instinct to take over. Carl's message meant something, he was sure – but he was equally sure that he would not understand it until the right moment came. He was tense and agitated, but Van Helsing felt new hope. He had something to work with.  
  
Tallander, in the next room, was unusually quiet. Perhaps he was asleep – thinking about it, Van Helsing had not seen the priest sleep since he had taken possession of Carl. No sleep, no food. Perhaps he did not need it; but Carl's body presumably still did. If – when! – Carl was freed, he would be in a bad condition if this deprivation continued. Van Helsing slipped downstairs, where the landlady and lord were nowhere in evidence – it was after eleven now, pitch dark outside, with a full moon. He shuddered a little when he saw it gleaming through the dusty window, but ignored the unpleasant memories it awoke and concentrated on taking what he wanted from the kitchen. Simple, nutritious food. A pitcher of cold beer. He took them upstairs, determined to make Tallander eat.  
  
Moonlight fell upon the door of the room Van Helsing had once shared with Carl, and would, he sincerely hoped again – soon. He still had time to discover the meaning of Carl's message. There was still hope. He opened the door.  
  
"I've brought you some food," Van Helsing began – then stopped in astonishment and anger.  
  
The room was empty. Tallander was gone. 


	10. Chapter Ten

A/N This is the penultimate chapter...thanks for all the reviews! Nearly there now...

It was raining, raining with a force Van Helsing had never seen before, battering the streets and turning the path to thick mud. He stumbled frequently as he ran, struggling to keep on his feet, his eyes fixed on the rusty church steeple now only a few hundred yards ahead of him.  
  
Tallander had to be in the church; where else could he have gone? Van Helsing cursed himself once more for a fool. He had not imagined that the two enemies might conspire against him, tricking him into thinking that Tallander's hideous ritual was designated to happen tomorrow night. Clearly, the two demons did not want Van Helsing to be involved, presumably for opposing reasons – Tallander because he feared Van Helsing might kill Carl, and Reicher because he feared he would not.  
  
Lightning flashed, highlighting the dirty stained glass window, and Van Helsing saw him at last: the figure of the priest, his arms spread wide. Racing up the church steps, Van Helsing threw open the aged, rotting door, and saw Tallander standing before the altar, his eyes wide and crazed with terrible purpose, soaked and dripping from the rain. Reicher stood opposite him, a dagger in his hand, his intent very clear, but Tallander did not look afraid.  
  
"Tallander!" Van Helsing roared, striding towards them...but Tallander raised a hand, gesturing almost dismissively, and a wall of blazing fire rose from nowhere before the monster hunter, cutting him off from his goal.  
  
"Go home, Gabriel!" Tallander laughed, his voice high and shrill. "Go home and let me be! There's nothing you can do for your little friend now."  
  
"There is something I can do for the world," growled Reicher, advancing menacingly upon the priest. Tallander chuckled.  
  
"I won't force you back – I've waited for this moment too long, my old friend. You have dogged me through my eternal travels long enough - your path ends here, Reicher."  
  
"Try it," the other responded, the dagger flashing in the light of several weeping candles set about the church. Tallander grinned.  
  
"I would be delighted, you pathetic piece of filth. See my flock!" he gestured wildly, and Van Helsing swung around to see a group of people – no, things that had once been people – standing behind him in a grim, translucent line. Men, women, and children – dear God, the children! And the faces of them all - ghastly, grey, rotted, dead.  
  
"My children," Tallander purred, "and the source of my strength. Haven't you seen what I can do? What you see is what remains of hundreds, Reicher – and dear Gabriel. When they are all gone and used up, I'll be unstoppable. Quite literally. If you stop being so naughty, you can stay and watch – I can promise you a most interesting performance."  
  
Van Helsing met Riecher's eyes, and understanding came between them; Reicher could trust Van Helsing to do his duty. Tallander saw the look, and chuckled.  
  
"Brave, noble men! Catch me if you can!"  
  
Reicher had sprung at him, dagger upraised, but Tallander, with a speed and grace Van Helsing had not thought possible, ran straight up the wall behind him and tossed over in mid-air, landing neatly behind Reicher. He gave the other man a push.  
  
"Tag!"  
  
He darted away again, laughing like a child. Mad...unutterably mad, for all his genius, Van Helsing thought. He gazed helplessly at the flames licking around him – why had Tallander not killed him yet? An unpleasant suspicion came into his mind, but he ignored it. Whether or not he died this day was unimportant; destroying Tallander, once and for all, was the goal, and he must not lost sight of it. But he could not forget Carl's fate, no matter how little he was concerned for his own.  
  
"Reicher!" the creature inhabiting Father Michael's body turned to him, as Tallander danced and capered around the altar – and the ghosts behind Van Helsing continued to fade, one by one.  
  
"Can you take this down?" Van Helsing hissed, gesturing to the wall of flame, as Reicher came nearer.  
  
"How?"  
  
"You're like him – don't argue!" he snapped, as Reicher began to protest. "You stay alive by the same means. You must possess some of his powers. Can you draw on the congregation in the way he does, and employ that strength to get rid of this fire?"  
  
"It's telekinesis," said Reicher. "He's drawing the fire from the candles, and fanning it with oxygen..."  
  
"I don't care how he does it. Can you do it?"  
  
Reicher's face flushed angrily. "Have you any idea what you're asking of me? To use his unholy power – to go against God...do you not think I would have used his strength against him before, had it been within God's law?"  
  
"God would have you do it to save thousands of lives, Reicher! Tallander's insane – God knows what he might do!"  
  
Reicher was silent a moment, his eyes locked to Van Helsing's. Slowly, he nodded.  
  
"I can try."  
  
"Good. Do it now."  
  
Reicher's eyes narrowed in concentration, his spare frame shaking with effort. Thunder crashed outside, wind howled, rain poured, leaking through the crumbling roof of the church –and Tallander's congregation screamed as they began to fade faster. At the altar, Tallander swung around to stare in fury.  
  
"What are you doing? Stop it!" he roared, as though Reicher might follow his command. A rumbling sound above that of the thunder caught Van Helsing's attention and he looked up; Reicher's eyes were closed tightly in concentration. He was pulling the roof down.  
  
With a last effort and a cry of triumph, Reicher's eyes flew open, and he yelled,  
  
"Move!" as the ancient roof finally came down, letting a deluge of rain pour in, quenching the flames surrounding Van Helsing. The monster hunter threw himself out of the way of the tumbling masonry, dodging the stones as he ran to the altar, where Tallander was standing, mouth open in shock.  
  
"You...you!" he flung out a hand and Van Helsing found himself propelling by an unseen force, thrown backwards into a niche in the wall. He struck something, an irregular stone structure, and fell to the ground, winded. Reicher, meanwhile, was taking his turn at Tallander. Van Helsing grabbed at the stone thing he had struck to pull himself to his feet – and found himself looking down at water. The font, chipped and discoloured, filled by the rain.  
  
Water.  
  
Aqua.  
  
It finally made sense – Carl's message. Obscure and enigmatic enough to confuse Tallander, it had been a calculated risk. Van Helsing understood now. Water.  
  
If only he could get hold of Tallander for long enough.  
  
Reicher had managed to grab him, and was grappling with him, using his own newly discovered telekinetic power. If only he could hold Tallander off, keep him from using his own skill, until Van Helsing's task was complete...  
  
Van Helsing ran forward and grabbed Tallander, pulling him away from Reicher.  
  
"Concentrate!" he yelled, at the being who was finally his ally. "Keep him at bay!"  
  
Without his telekinetic ability, Tallander was no match for Van Helsing's strength. He struggled in Van Helsing's grasp, then suddenly stopped, and turned to look up into the monster hunter's face.  
  
"If you try to destroy me now, you'll kill him, Gabriel! And he'll go straight to hell, his soul damned for eternity."  
  
"Better that than what you damn him to, Tallander."  
  
"I'll let him go!" the priest was struggling again, but Van Helsing had no time to listen to bargains – Reicher was weakening, and the ghosts were almost gone. Tallander knew that; he was playing for time.  
  
"You're the one who's going to rot in hell!" With sudden fury, Van Helsing dragged the priest to the font, where the rainwater spilled over to the floor, cold and filthy. He thrust Tallander's head deep into the water, and held him there as the priest struggled wildly. It took all Van Helsing's strength, both physical and mental, to hold Tallander – Carl – under the water until his lungs filled with water and his heart stopped, but he did it. He did it begging for forgiveness not from God, but from Carl, who was dying in his arms, by his hand.  
  
"Van Helsing..." Reicher was leaning against the altar, exhausted. "Van Helsing, I can't hold on any longer. The ghosts are gone. Is he dead?"  
  
Van Helsing, his hands shaking, pulled Carl's limp form back from the water, lowered it gently to the floor.  
  
"Yes," he whispered. Reicher nodded, his flushed face relieved...and then, with a howl of terror, he doubled over, clutching his stomach, his eyes bulging from his head. Horrified, Van Helsing watched as the being writhed and screamed on the church floor...until Father Michael's body burst into flames, burning with impossible rapidity, until it fell to ashes, and was gone.  
  
Van Helsing shook off his horrified fascination. It had all happened too quickly – there was nothing he could do to save Reicher, or Father Michael, now. Turning away, he knelt beside Carl's lifeless body, and gently gathered the friar into his arms, his vision blurred by tears of grief – and hope.  
  
"Don't let me down, Carl," he whispered. "You were the one who told me to do this. I hope to God you had a plan. Come on!" Desperately, Van Helsing laid Carl down again and struck him a blow on the chest, over his heart. He had seen it done...he had seen men breathe again when they had been thought dead. He had heard holy men call it wrong, against God, all sorts of arguments why the dead should not be brought back to life...none of it mattered now. None of it had ever mattered to Van Helsing, who ignored the rules of men when they did not suit him – just as Carl did. Leaning forward, he pressed his mouth against the friar's and exhaled as hard as he could. He did it again, and again...and was rewarded, finally, with a choking gasp.  
  
He turned Carl over quickly, holding him as the friar coughed water from his lungs, struggling for air between each heave. Finally it stopped, and Carl collapsed, exhausted, deathly pale, and very weak – but alive.  
  
Alive.


	11. Chapter Eleven

A/N apologies for this chapter taking so long! I'm working on a particularly horrible essay - my last! - at the moment, as well as my strange research project about the paranormal. Various other, nicer things involving going out for meals and having people stay also intervened. Anyway, I hope it's worth the wait - it's the longest chapter so far!

Thanks hugely to everyone for their reviews, I really appreciate them :-)

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"Carl? Are you all right? Can you hear me?" Van Helsing held his friend gently by the shoulders as Carl retched, bringing up water, shivering violently against Van Helsing, who despite his relief was gripped by a new terror – what if this was Tallander? What if he hadn't really been expelled? Perhaps he had been faking – he might be capable of stopping his heart of his own will, for all Van Helsing knew. Tallander's power was in fire, and fire had destroyed Reicher and Father Michael. Van Helsing had to know that man he had brought back really was Carl...the thought of killing him again was unbearable.  
  
Unable to stop himself, Van Helsing pulled Carl onto his back and shook him sharply.  
  
"Talk to me! Are you all right? Carl!"  
  
The friar's eyes had been tightly closed, but now they opened, fixing after a dazed moment on Van Helsing's face. Carl simply stared at him, no expression on his face save mild confusion. He looked somehow diminished, as though he had lost weight in the last ten minutes, and his eyes were bloodshot and clouded.  
  
"Carl," Van Helsing said again, gently this time. He could not imagine Tallander looking so desperately vulnerable as this. The friar's cracked lips moved, and he rasped weakly,  
  
"Van...Van Helsing?"  
  
Smothering a sigh of relief, Van Helsing pulled his friend into a sitting position, supporting his back with one arm, smoothing wet hair out of Carl's eyes with the other hand.  
  
"Are you all right?"  
  
"I...I don't know," Carl half-whispered, his blue eyes widening as he slowly took in his surroundings.  
  
"How much do you remember?"  
  
The frightened eyes fixed on Van Helsing, and Carl's voice rose, almost shouting, as he said,  
  
"Everything!" softer, he repeated, "I remember all of it...oh, my God."  
  
"Nothing that happened was your fault," the monster hunter was quick to reassure him. "You have nothing to feel guilty about. Including...er..." he trailed off, unable to bring himself to mention either the young woman at the tavern or his own intense experience with Tallander. Carl, obviously realising what he meant, managed a weak, embarrassed smile. He glanced around the church, tiredly, almost absently – and his gaze fell upon the charred ashes which were the remains of Father Michael.  
  
"Michael," he murmured, the smile fading. "He should never have been involved in this."  
  
Van Helsing followed his gaze. "There was nothing I could do. He just – exploded into flames. A final attack from Tallander..." he phrased it half as a question, and Carl answered, though not as Van Helsing had expected.  
  
"An attack, yes, but not in the way you probably think. Tallander wasn't expelled from me – when he realised all was lost, he used his remaining strength to leave my body and enter Michael's. He fought Reicher directly...and the resulting exodus of energy destroyed poor Michael completely."  
  
As if exhausted by this speech and what it meant, Carl sank back against Van Helsing's arm, and closed his eyes once again. The monster hunter stared in horror at Michael's sad remains.  
  
"Are they both dead, then? Reicher and Tallander, I mean."  
  
"Possibly both. Probably neither," Carl murmured, with his eyes closed. "Please...I want to leave here."  
  
"I'm sorry. Of course," Van Helsing helped the friar to his feet, but Carl slumped against him helplessly, too weak to walk. The larger man lifted his friend easily in his arms, noticing again that he seemed to have lost weight compared with earlier that day – he looked thin and pale, with black circles under his eyes. Van Helsing touched his forehead lightly – it was too hot.  
  
"Come on," he said, carrying Carl from the church in his strong arms. "You need to get some sleep. And I'm sure the landlady will get you a meal."  
  
"Not in the small hours of the morning," murmured Carl, half-smiling, his head against Van Helsing's broad shoulder. He seemed to have no objection whatsoever to being carried like a child.  
  
"I'll get you a meal, then. I stole some bread and cheese from the kitchen earlier."  
  
"Sounds delightful," mumbled Carl, half asleep already, despite the rain pouring down his neck – the storm still raged, though now it seemed far less ominous than before. Thunder and lightning had both ceased, and the rain's pattering seemed more gentle and soothing than discomforting.  
  
Once back at the inn, Van Helsing carried Carl up to their room, laid him on the bed, and began to gently strip him of his wet clothes, while the friar lay supine and drowsy. He opened one eye when the monster hunter removed his underwear.  
  
"Sorry," murmured Van Helsing. "But if after all this you got pneumonia, I'd renounce the church and become a heretic. I don't think Cardinal Jinette would appreciate that."  
  
"Probably not," murmured Carl. "Anyway, it's not as though I have anything you haven't seen before," he winked, and Van Helsing smiled back wryly, relieved that his friend's sense of humour at least was intact. He found Carl's aged grey nightshirt, and put it on him. Again, the friar was completely pliant, and flopped down on the bed again as soon as Van Helsing had dressed him.  
  
"Supper," the monster hunter said, collecting the slightly stale bread and hard cheese. The beer at least was still fairly cold – the room was decidedly chilly.  
  
"Breakfast," countered Carl, sleepily, glancing at his pocket watch, which lay on the dusty bedside cabinet. "It's almost four in the morning."  
  
"You have breakfast at four in the morning at the abbey?"  
  
"Actually, I usually do have supper at about this time," Carl had wakened up a little at the sight of the food, basic as it was. "Thank you."  
  
Van Helsing sat and watched his friend eat, filled with such an intense sense of relief mingled with exhaustion that it manifested itself as a kind of deep contentment. Carl, for once, was not talking ten to the dozen, being far more interested in his food, and except for the soothing sound of rain against the window, the night was very quiet.  
  
"Better?" asked the monster hunter presently, when Carl had finished the food and beer – and was looking slightly tipsy.  
  
"Much," the friar mumbled, falling back on the bed. "I suppose I ought to go to sleep now," he added.  
  
"Sounds like a good idea," Van Helsing agreed – but Carl appeared to be asleep already. Smiling to himself, Van Helsing made for his own bed, preparing by the simple process of removing his outer garments and throwing them on the floor.  
  
"Where're you going?" murmured Carl, surprising him. The friar opened his eyes, looking afraid for the first time since they had left the church. Afraid of sleeping, Van Helsing realised – dreams, after all, had started this whole horrible experience.  
  
"I'm not going anywhere," the hunter replied. "I'm right here, in the next bed. You can wake me if you need anything."  
  
"Am I a terrible coward?" Carl murmured.  
  
"Not at all," Van Helsing firmly answered. "On the contrary, you're one of the bravest men I've ever met." He sank down wearily onto his mattress and pulled the scratchy woollen blanket over him. "Sleep, now. Everything will be all right."  
  
Carl smiled again, thankfully, and closed his eyes.  
  
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Van Helsing awoke a few hours later, when life began to stir in the old building – he could hear the landlady shouting at a barmaid, the rattle of bottles. He glanced over at Carl's bed and saw the friar still sleeping peacefully despite the racket from downstairs, his hair falling messily over his eyes, his cheek pillowed on his hand. He looked quite well for a man who had been possessed, died and been resurrected all in an evening.  
  
It was noon before Carl finally awoke, glancing bemusedly around the room for a moment before sitting up in alarm.  
  
"It's all right," Van Helsing soothed him. "Take it easy."  
  
Carl relaxed slowly, gave a weak smile. "I was...I was waiting for Tallander to say something. It's strange...I feel almost lonely without him. I know that's absurd," he added, as Van Helsing stared.  
  
"You're a strange man," the monster hunter shrugged, trying to keep his tone light. He was determined not to ask Carl any questions until the friar was ready to answer, but Carl answered them anyway.  
  
"Tallander is definitely gone, but he isn't dead, I don't think. He's somewhere out there, in spirit...perhaps he'll find the strength to take a corporeal body again, perhaps not. Reicher was destroyed, I think."  
  
Van Helsing grimaced. "Is there anything we can do about it?"  
  
"We can burn down all the churches he defiled and salt the earth," Carl said, in a grim, almost bitter tone. "But it won't destroy him. It might stop him drawing strength from his congregation, though – and those unfortunates should be buried in consecrated ground. As should poor Father Michael's remains," the friar added, sadly. He plucked at his blanket, hesitating, and Van Helsing, guessing what was on his mind, said,  
  
"There was nothing you or I could have done about Michael."  
  
"I know...I know."  
  
Van Helsing moved to sit on the edge of Carl's bed. "Hungry?"  
  
"Not really."  
  
"There's a first," the hunter joked weakly, but his smile faded at the sight of Carl's grief-stricken face.  
  
"He was my friend, and a good man. I should have tried to stop Tallander."  
  
"Would you have been able to?"  
  
"No. But I should have tried," Carl sighed, leaned back against his thin pillow. "You know, I actually felt rather sorry for Tallander, in the end. In some ways...we were alike."  
  
"You were nothing like that monster!" Van Helsing was quick to reassure, but Carl simply smiled at him sadly.  
  
"But he wasn't always a monster, Van Helsing. He was once a man – a priest. Well, you know that. He lived in the sixteenth century, in the time of Queen Elizabeth. He was a good man – tormented, confused, but good. Tallander was condemned to death for his faith, but escaped, and took refuge in a country house, where the squire and his family were secretly practising Catholicism. They hid Tallander in a priest's hole behind a bookcase in the library, but only a week later, the family was discovered, the head of the household arrested, and the house searched. The priest's hole was found, but instead of taking Tallander for execution, his enemies simply blocked the door, trapping him inside – a tiny room, barely two feet square. Deprived of food and water he prayed to God that he would be rescued – but no one came, and Tallander took this to mean that God had forsaken him. He turned to the Devil instead, and made a pact – that when he died, he would continue to live by feeding on the lives of others."  
  
Carl paused, but Van Helsing said nothing. He had not expected this; not expected that it might be possible that Tallander had once been something other than a cursed demon living only to destroy others.  
  
"You said he was like you," the hunter said, eventually, very quietly. He felt oddly humbled. "In what way?"  
  
"Tallander was tormented by his own mind," Carl said softly. "His heart told him that God existed and made the world; his brain told him something else. He was a born scientist, a pragmatist, a rationalist. He had no proof that God existed and yet was expected to believe, and did believe – and it tortured him. He was half-insane, I think, before he was murdered. I think he chose me precisely because of that. He had resolved his conflict by convincing himself that God was dead. He wanted desperately to understand how I could dedicate myself to both God and science."  
  
Carl looked up at Van Helsing, and smiled sadly. "In some ways, he was pitiable. He destroyed himself through his own logic."  
  
The hunter shook his head. "It isn't an excuse, Carl."  
  
"True," the friar replied, simply. He looked very tired, but glad to have unburdened himself on the subject of Tallander. His eyes were brighter, his face more relaxed than Van Helsing had seen since before Tallander's invasion.  
  
"So – what's for breakfast?" the friar asked, quite cheerfully. Van Helsing smiled at him. Tallander had certainly been right about one thing – his little friend had an extraordinary mind.  
  
The landlady left a tray of slightly unpleasant looking food outside the door, and Van Helsing retrieved it, placing it on Carl's lap; the friar looked amused to be waited on. The hunter ate nothing himself. He would let Carl eat before telling him about the new problem – the telegram that had arrived that morning, while the friar slept.  
  
The cable from the Vatican.


	12. Chapter Twelve

A/N Yet another chapter of the Never-Ending Story. This fic is going to have more endings than Return of the King before it's done - I honestly think the next chapter will be the last, though. I'm trying to set it up for the sequel, which I've already started writing. Wonder when I'll find time to actually do some work on my research project?

By the way, can't resist a plug: if anyone has had a 'paranormal' or religious experience (seeing ghosts, hearing the voice of God etc.) and wouldn't mind filling in some questionnnaires, I'd be grateful for the help. I'm interested not in whether the experiences are genuinely 'paranormal', so you won't meet with any doubt or scepticism, but trying to establish what sort of person tends to have paranormal or religious experiences...

Anyway, sorry, back to the fic! This chapter has a CJ warning (as in, Cardinal Jinette is in it) and is rated PG. Oh, and should mention, brief spoilers inside for the end of the film - is there anyone who hasn't seen it yet!?

Thanks for all the reviews and encouragement!

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"So, what did it say?" Carl asked, casually, picking at the leftovers of his food.  
  
"What?"  
  
"The telegram you've been hiding in your pocket since lunch arrived."  
  
Van Helsing sighed. He knew he could not have kept the cable from Carl, but he had hoped to break the news to him gently. It was bitterly unfair that after all he had suffered, the friar would have to put up with the injustice and indignity of the Vatican's behaviour.  
  
"It was from Jinette," the hunter murmured.  
  
"I'd surmised that much," Carl put his tray down on the floor with a sigh, and beckoned to Van Helsing. The taller man sat on the bed.  
  
"Are you going to show it to me, then?"  
  
Van Helsing slowly removed the telegram from his pocket and handed it over. Carl read it in silence, his brows drawing into a frown as he took in the meaning behind the few fairly innocuous lines.  
  
"The Cardinal doesn't trust me," the friar summarised. "He thinks Tallander might still be trying to possess me."  
  
"I won't let them treat you this way..." Van Helsing began, his voice tight with anger, but Carl shook his head.  
  
"I understand their uncertainty and caution – but not their manner. This cable makes me sound like a criminal. They're ordering you to 'bring me in for questioning.'" He sighed and dropped the paper onto the bed. "What now? I'm not sure I can take any more stress this week."  
  
"I won't let them hurt you, Carl."  
  
"They won't hurt me. They'll excommunicate me."  
  
"I won't let them do that, either."  
  
"Or lock me up."  
  
"If they're going to do anything to you," Van Helsing growled, "they'll have to get through me first."  
  
"And they will," said Carl, sadly, though he managed a smile in response to Van Helsing's protectiveness.  
  
"I'll keep you safe. We won't go back to the Vatican. Where would you like to go?" Remembering the Order's ideas about the Frankenstein monster, Van Helsing was perfectly willing to sacrifice his own uncertain standing in the Order to keep his friend from a similar fate. He could hardly send Carl off into the world alone – and a part of him wanted this, wanted an excuse to escape.  
  
He was surprised and slightly hurt when Carl laughed, gazing at him almost as a schoolmaster might look at a confused, misguided child.  
  
"We're not going anywhere. They'll only come after us. Besides, all I have to do is prove that Tallander is gone, and everything will be fine....as long as..."  
  
"As long as what?"  
  
"It's almost as if they knew already..."  
  
"Knew what, Carl? You have me worried now. What is it you haven't told me?"  
  
The friar looked up at him, his eyes anxious, then pressed closer to the hunter's side.  
  
"It may be nothing. Just...just what Tallander said before he finally left me."  
  
"Which was?"  
  
"He knew he would not be destroyed. He said he could, and would, come back – and when he did, it would be through my blood."  
  
There was silence for a moment.  
  
"Your blood?" Van Helsing said eventually. "Meaning your death?"  
  
"Perhaps Cardinal Jinette suspects that Tallander will never really let me be – that he'll try to destroy me. I could be a danger to everyone around me. Or...well, they could use me as bait."  
  
Carl was looking very alarmed now, having a habit of scaring himself into assuming the worst. Van Helsing squeezed his shoulder tightly.  
  
"I repeat, Jinette can't touch you. Tallander can't touch you. I won't let them."  
  
Carl gave another sad little smile in response. "I think, old friend, that this is another battle I will have to fight for myself."  
  
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Vatican City  
  
Cardinal Jinette was an intimidating man at the best of times. His heavy brows, harsh face and cool, deep-set eyes gave him a fearsome appearance that would, perhaps, have seemed incongruous to a layman – but Carl was more than familiar with Jinette's 'type' in the Order, and in the church generally. The I-am-appointed-by-God-don't-argue-with-me type. This, the friar thought, would be an interesting experience – generally Jinette left him well enough alone, ignoring the occasional disturbing rumour about the friar's conduct in return for the young man's genius.  
  
This was different.  
  
The atmosphere in Jinette's office was thick and stifling. The Cardinal stood behind his desk, glowering at Gabriel and Carl.  
  
"You may sit, Carl," he said eventually, scowling at the friar. "Van Helsing – leave us for the moment, please."  
  
Carl caught the hunter's glance at him – concerned, protective - and smiled slightly to assure him that everything would be all right. The hunter left without a word, shooting a scowl at Jinette at he did so. The old Cardinal sent a similar grimace after him.  
  
"Sit," he repeated, when Carl was alone with him. The friar was not so innocent, however.  
  
"I would prefer to stand, thank you," keeping his tone light and as normal as possible.  
  
"Very well," Jinette looked displeased now that his physical advantage had been taken from him, and began to pace the room, not looking at Carl.  
  
"I read your report," the Cardinal said, crisply, after a moment.  
  
"I expected nothing less." The words were out of Carl's mouth before he could check them, and he grimaced. Damn his smart tongue. It had brought him to trouble with the Cardinal often before, and eventually, he had learned to keep it in check. Now it was different – everything was different.  
  
"You say Tallander left your body by choice, before you temporarily – evacuated it yourself."  
  
So the choice was between admitting to still being possessed, or being a zombie. Charming.  
  
"The restoration of life to people who have stopped breathing, but whose brains continue to function..." Carl began, but Jinette stopped him.  
  
"I am aware of the medical research, Carl. Neither you nor Van Helsing are being accused of anything. I merely wish to ask you some questions."  
  
"Yes, sir." Accused of nothing? That was new from Jinette.  
  
"You believe that Tallander could be destroyed if he was killed while inhabiting a body – he was not destroyed in this case because he chose to depart, seeking respite in Father Michael's body?"  
  
"Yes...but..."  
  
"Therefore, had you died in the absence of any other habitable body, Tallander would have died with you."  
  
"Yes, that is my theory," Carl said quietly. He had a feeling he knew where this was going, and he didn't like it – not at all.  
  
Jinette looked thoughtful. He returned to his desk and leafed through the many dozens of pages of which Carl's report consisted.  
  
"Is Tallander satisfactorily neutralised?" The Cardinal asked suddenly, sharply, his eyes boring into Carl's.  
  
"No," the friar answered, honestly and immediately. "Not in the long term. However, for him to return before – well, hundreds of years have passed – would be impossible, I think. He simply wouldn't have the strength."  
  
"You can guarantee this?"  
  
"How in the world could I do that?" Carl wondered. "Tallander may have – inhabited – me for a while, but since even he does not know the extent of his abilities, how would I?"  
  
"Very well." Jinette ruffled the papers again. "Your recommendations, then?"  
  
"As I said in my report," and as the Cardinal well knew, "burn the churches he defiled, salt the earth, re-consecrate the ground. Give his tormented 'congregation' a decent burial. Without further research I can't say more, and probably not even then."  
  
There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Then Jinette, speaking more gently than he ever had to the friar, said again,  
  
"Sit down, Carl."  
  
This time, Carl sat, sensing that the Cardinal had finally reached the nub of this discussion.  
  
"I repeat that you are under no suspicion," Jinette said, quietly. "I am convinced that Tallander has left you."  
  
"Thank you," murmured Carl.  
  
"However, the possibility that he may be able to reclaim you, as it were, must be considered."  
  
"Tallander never 'claimed' me, Your Grace!"  
  
"An unfortunate choice of words," Jinette agreed, and Carl relapsed into his chair, from which he had started in indignation.  
  
"We must be certain that you are safe from him. As such, we propose an attempt to invite Tallander to possess you."  
  
There was a pause in which Carl stared dumbstruck, at the Cardinal. He had expected something – but not this. He searched his soul for strength, searched God for strength, and finally thought of Van Helsing, doubtless standing outside the door trying to hear what was going on, and found his courage there.  
  
"I see," he said evenly, to Jinette. "Interesting idea. You allow Tallander to possess me, and when he does, you trick him into taking poison, perhaps? Something of the kind, anyway. Then you depart leaving him – and me – to die. Cunning. I doubt it will work."  
  
Jinette eyed Carl appraisingly for a moment, then nodded. "I doubt it too. That is why I am allowing this experiment to go ahead, Carl." He rose and began pacing again. "You are important to the Order," he went on, "but not as important as the thousands of lives Tallander could destroy if he should return. If the experiment fails, and you are not re-taken by Tallander, we will assume his threat is passed for now and leave you to return to your work, with our blessing, and unmolested. If Tallander does return – the scenario will play out as you described."  
  
Carl closed his eyes briefly. "And what if I refuse?" he almost whispered.  
  
"Will you refuse?"  
  
"No."  
  
"I thought not. You understand the importance of this." Jinette sat down again with a sigh. He looked suddenly far older than his years.  
  
"You are a good man, my son. You have the protection of the Lord God – and would have mine, were it possible. You understand that there is no choice for the Order in this matter."  
  
"I understand." Carl sat in silence for a moment, as the ramifications of what he had just agreed to slowly sank in. A bitter sense of injustice filled him. He had suffered enough, surely...all he wanted was to return to his laboratory and go back to work making weapons for Van Helsing. And what about Van Helsing? He had been a quieter, more vulnerable man since Anna's death, and only recently seemed to be recovering from his horrendous experiences in Transylvania, which might well have driven a lesser man insane. Carl hoped that he had been helping somewhat towards Van Helsing's recovery, and did not want to leave him; the hunter would not, perhaps, understand the choice his friend had made. But as Jinette had pointed out, there was no choice, not really – not for any of them.  
  
"When will it happen?" Carl asked, softly.  
  
"Tomorrow, if that gives you sufficient time – to prepare."  
  
"If Tallander is still – around – what makes you think he will choose to come to me? He's not an idiot. He'll suspect a trick."  
  
"There are many uncontrolled variables in this experiment, Carl," Jinette smiled faintly as he used language familiar to the friar. "We will do what we can, but can do no more. I assure you – if there is no indication that Tallander has returned, we will not subject you to any further – experiments."  
  
"I understand."  
  
"I knew that you would."


	13. Chapter Thirteen

A/N

This is the end! This is finally the end! It's finished, people! Thank you all for your encouragement, reviews, comments, etc. Hope you're all happy with the ending. The sequel will be out soon, hopefully, though how soon I can't say for certain!

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"You can't do this. After everything you've been through, it isn't right. They don't have the right to do this to you!"  
  
Carl had expected Van Helsing to be angry and upset about his decision, but he had to make the hunter understand: if there was any chance of destroying Tallnder's evil for good, it would be immoral and selfish not to take it, even if it meant the sacrifice of his own life. Van Helsing knew this, of course – it didn't stop him from being furious.  
  
"I don't have a choice, and neither do they," Carl told him quietly. "If necessary, you would have killed me in England, to destroy Tallander."  
  
"Only if I was sure there was nothing left of you to save!"  
  
"I know...I know." Wearily, Carl rubbed his eyes. He despaired of his friend giving his blessing for this...but in the end, it didn't matter. It wasn't Van Helsing's decision to make.  
  
There was silence for a moment. Gabriel's face was more expressive than Carl had ever seen it, eyes flashing with pained anger, mouth tight, a terrible helplessness overshadowing it all. And in the face of this, Carl felt a sudden strength.  
  
"There's a very good chance that nothing at all will happen," the friar said, in a soothing voice. "The risk isn't great. But...there is a risk, and if Tallander should return," he took a deep breath, "this may be the last conversation we have together. And I don't want to say goodbye like this."  
  
Gabriel gazed back at him, the anger dying from his eyes, replaced with something like grief – and a kind of acceptance.  
  
"I don't want to say goodbye at all," the hunter murmured.  
  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
  
A room had been prepared for the ritual that would call Tallander. A kind of séance, a necessary evil in the minds of Cardinal Jinette and his ilk. Carl would be placed in the centre, seated on a simple stool. A spiritist medium had been paid to take part; she would, presumably, be silenced afterwards in one way or another. The Vatican knew how to cover its tracks, and this could not be allowed to get into the papers.  
  
The medium, Jinette, and the other trusted holy men who would take part in this ritual sacrifice had already taken their places in the dimly-lit room. Carl and Van Helsing stood outside, silent, waiting.  
  
"I think they're ready to start," Carl said quietly. He was trembling very slightly, though struggling to appear outwardly calm. Van Helsing gripped the friar's shoulder so tightly it hurt, but Carl didn't care. They were both behaving as though Carl's death was a foregone conclusion – as though this was the end. As though they both knew that whatever happened in that room, it would be.  
  
They entered the séance room together, Gabriel's hand still on Carl's shoulder. Carl took his place wordlessly in the centre of the circle, all eyes on him. Van Helsing moved equally silently to his own place in the circle itself. He had insisted on being part of this.  
  
The medium began the ritual, the holy men following her lead. She called upon Tallander. She drew him to them. Candles flickered, and a soft wind seemed to whisper through the darkened room. The candles went out. Someone broke the circle, fumbled for a lamp, lit it – it was Jinette. All eyes turned to Carl, but the friar looked as startled as everyone else. Slowly, their gazes fell upon the medium. She was rigid in her chair, eyes rolling, fingers gripping the chair arms so tightly the knuckles were white. Slowly she relaxed...and began to speak, in a voice so terrible that some of the younger sitters covered their ears. Only Carl seemed unaffected. He had heard that voice before, many times...in his mind.  
  
"You thought to trick me," it said, a dreadful, hissing, ragged voice. "You underestimated me, Cardinal Jinette." The medium turned a horrible smile on the old man, who stared back defiantly, though he crossed himself swiftly first.  
  
"I am not so foolish. I'll give you a little tip, since you're all so obviously dim-witted, and know nothing of the existence which I lead. I have been forced to abandon a body before," that smile again, "it is far from impossible. You have not heard of it because my partners did not survive the experience – they were reduced to madness. Your pet friar is in that sense unique, Cardinal Jinette. But here's the tip: once I have vacated a body before the appropriate time, I never enter it again. You have my promise that your clever little friend is safe from that. For his surprising strength of will, I salute him," the medium's body rose from the chair and gave a mocking little bow, "and because he amused me, and I liked him, I have left him with a little gift. Or possibly a curse. Let him interpret it as he will.  
  
"I take my leave of you now, gentleman...for the moment. Don't bother about destroying my churches and consecrating the ground, it won't do the least bit of good. I'll return to you when I'm good and ready – but I promise you, you will not be ready for me."  
  
A convulsion shook the medium's body, and she slumped back in her chair. The candles flickered back to life again. A priest ran to the medium's side, checked her vital signs – and crossed himself.  
  
"My God," he whispered, "she's dead!"  
  
Everyone began to talk at once. Carl, sitting pale and shaken in the circle's centre, seemed to have been forgotten by everyone – except Van Helsing, who moved quickly to his side and knelt beside the stool.  
  
"Are you all right?"  
  
"I...I think so. Oh God, that poor woman!"  
  
"This travesty should never have been attempted," Van Helsing growled. He pulled Carl to his feet. "Come on. I'm taking you back to your cell."  
  
"Wait!" Cardinal Jinette was standing in front of the door, blocking their exit, but although his face was drawn and troubled, his gaze was sympathetic as it fell on Carl.  
  
"You behaved bravely and nobly, my son," he said quietly. "But there is something you must tell me before I allow you to go and rest. Tallander spoke of a gift."  
  
Carl shook his head. "I don't know what he meant, but doubtless I'll find out."  
  
Jinette regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded, and stepped aside, though he did not look satisfied.  
  
"Very well. You will inform me immediately if anything else should occur, or if Tallander contacts you in any way."  
  
"Of course, your Eminence."  
  
At last, Jinette smiled. "Go and rest, then." His gaze fell upon Van Helsing. "Look after him."  
  
"I will," the hunter answered, coldly, shepherding Carl gently out of that awful room.  
  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
  
Carl lay curled up on his small cot, with Van Helsing seated beside him on a wooden stool, watching over his friend protectively, as though he feared the Cardinal should return to demand something more of the exhausted friar.  
  
"Is it really over?" the hunter asked, after a long silence.  
  
"I don't know," Carl replied, simply.  
  
"About this 'gift'..."  
  
"Not now," the friar murmured, half asleep. "Not now."  
  
"You know what he was talking about, then? Why didn't you tell Jinette? What's going on, Carl?"  
  
"There's nothing to tell," Carl answered, "I just don't want to think about it...about Tallander...about any of it. Not yet. Not for some time. I just want to be quiet and go to sleep...will you stay for a while?"  
  
"Of course. I won't leave you."  
  
"Then all's well." With that, Carl closed his eyes, and slept. Van Helsing watched over him through the night, studying his friend's face. It looked no different. The friar seemed no different – a little stronger perhaps, but his experience had been the cause of that. Despite everything, though, Carl was still Carl – eccentric, boisterous, comical, affectionate Carl. Nothing had really changed...  
  
Gazing down at the innocent, sleeping face, Van Helsing wondered. 


End file.
